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LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

Of    ILLINOIS 

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THE  SHIP  OF  DEATH 


■^j-.'-v.-,5?^j>:iv^T 


LOVE'S  INFERNO 

By  DR.  EDWARD  STILGEBAUER 

12mo.  Cloth.  $1.35  net 

The  author  of  this  arresting  and  thought-pro- 
voking book  exiled  himself  to  Switzerland  in 
order  to  write  it,  and  since  it  was  published  it 
has  been  forbidden  to  be  sold  or  read  in  Ger- 
many. It  is  a  narrative  of  the  early  stages  of 
the  Great  War,  written  from  the  German  side 
by  a  German.  It  is  at  once  a  terrible  docimient 
of  accusation  and  a  soul-stirring  appeal  for  the 
abolition  of  war  and  the  military  system. 

PRIVATE  GASPARD 

A  SOLDIER  OF  FRANCE 
By  RENfe  BENJAMIN 

12mo.  Cloth.  $1.35  net. 

This  remarkable  book  received  the  prize  of  the 
Acad^mie  Goncourt,  and  has  sold  in  France  in 
hundreds  of  thousands.  No  book  in  any  lan- 
guage gives  the  real  atmosphere  of  war  times  in 
a  country  and  the  life  of  the  French  poilu  as 
does  this  unusual  piece  of  writing.  "Private 
Gaspard"  is  destined  to  become  as  well  known 
as  Kipling's  famous  "Soldiers  Three." 

BRENTANO'S,  5th  Ave.  &  27th  St.,  New  York 


THE 

SHIP  OF  DEATH 

BY 

EDWARD  STILGEBAUER 

Author  of  "Love's  Inferno" 

AUTHORIZED  TRANSLATION  ' 

BY 

M.  T.  H.  SADLER 


NEW  YORK 
BRENTANO'S 

19  18 


COPTBIGHT,  1918,  BT  BbkNTAITO's 


t 


CONTENTS 


Page 

r   Part   I.— The  Deed i 

■ft 

j,.    Part  II, — The     Thirteen     Reincarnations     of 
'■'A  Captain  Stirn 135 


U 


\: 


PART  I 

THE  DEED 


/ 


THE  SHIP  OF  DEATH 


PART  I 

THE  DEED 

CHAPTER   I 

THE  rubber  was  over.  Putnam,  clean  shaven, 
with  sharply  cut  Yankee  features,  sat  shuffling 
the  cards.  He  leant  back  comfortably  in  the 
leather-covered  club  armchair  and  relit  his  cigar. 
Things  were  going  well  with  him,  for  he  was  an  im- 
portant shareholder  in  the  Bethlehem  Steel  Works, 
was  on  the  board  of  directors  and  helped  to  control 
the  manufacture  of  munitions  for  England. 

Glowing  with  well-being  he  sat  and  watched  his 
friend  Franklin  Price,  who  was  reading  the  latest 
edition  of  the  New  York  Times.  At  last  Putnam  spoke 
laconically  : 

"Steel  is  higher  than  Baltimore-Ohios  now,  Frank- 
lin!" 

"They  are,"  returned  the  other  dryly.  "But  you 
must  also  remember  that  the  insurance  rate  has  gone  up 
another  2  >^%." 

Putnam  had  spoken  in  order  to  tease  his  old  friend, 
for  Price  was  a  director  of  the  Baltimore-Ohio  and 
had  been  complaining  for  several  weeks  that  railway 
stocks  were  on  the  down-grade.  But  now  Putnam 
himself  felt  uneasy.    He  leant  over  the  newspaper. 

"Is  this  a  new  move  by  the  Germans?  Why  has 
insurance  gone  up?" 

3 


'"[HiffW  ■;'r'-y 


THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH 


<n 


'Read  for  yourself,"  replied  Price. 

The  other  two  bridge  players,  Levick,  the  young 
engineer,  and  his  uncle,  Haynes,  overheard  and  strolled 
up  full  of  interest.  Levick  knew  the  Germans  and 
his  interest  was  more  professional  than  commercial. 
He  had  studied  for  two  years  in  the  Technical  College 
at  Charlottenburg  and  was  now  draughtsman  for  one 
of  the  largest  shipbuilding  yards  in  Brooklyn.  His 
eagerness  formed  a  curious  contrast  to  the  nonchalance 
of  the  rest. 

"Please  read  it  aloud,  Mr.  Putnam." 

Haynes  also  listened.  He  was  unusually  stout  for 
an  American,  sixty  years  old,  and  the  fortunate  owner 
of  a  prosperous  brewery  in  Boston.  The  three  men 
stood  round  Putnam,  who,  with  glasses  on  his  nose, 
read  aloud  as  follows: 

"Great  German  submarine  success  off  the  Hook. 
The  Times  reports  a  private  telegram  from  Amster- 
dam: *Near  the  Hook  of  Holland  the  three  cruisers 
Hope,  Lion  and  Tenacity  were  today  sunk  by  a  Ger- 
man submarine.' " 

"Three  at  once,"  remarked  Price.  An  ironical  smile 
played  about  his  lips.  "Hence  the  rise  in  the  insurance 
rate." 

"England  has  thousands  of  ships,"  replied  Putnam 
dryly. 

"Were  the  crews  saved?"  asked  Haynes. 

"There's  nothing  about  that,"  answered  Putnam. 

But  young  LeVick  was  deeply  interested. 

"Who  would  have  thought  ten  years  ago,  when 
France  and  America  were  building  the  first  submarine, 
that  so  terrible  a  weapon  was  being  forged.  Smart 
fellows  the  Germans!" 

"It's  fairly  obvious,  Bob,"  said  his  uncle  jokingly, 
"that  you  lived  two  years  in  Berlin  and  were  almost 
engaged  to  a  German  girl.    But  I  should  have  cut 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 


you  out  of  my  will,  you  rascal!  And  now  you  call 
it  smart — smart  to  sink  ships  with  cargoes  worth  mil- 
lions of  dollars — ^smart,  to  make  the  market  drop 
twenty  points  in  one  day  I  Upon  my  word,  these  sul>- 
marines  ...   !" 

"Sort  of  things  these  damned  Germans  would  in- 
vent, submarines !"  threw  in  Putnam. 

Levick  smiled  a  slightly  superior  smile.  But  it  was 
Franklin  Price  who  spoke : 

"I  am  inclined  to  doubt  whether  the  submarine  is 
actually  a  German  invention.  The  Germans'  chief 
talent  seems  to  be  the  developjnent  of  other  folks*  dis- 
coveries. That  at  least  is  what  happened  with  the 
steam  engine,  the  telegraph,  the  telephone " 

"Not  quite  so  fast,  Mr.  Price.  Reiss,  the  inventor 
of  the  electrical  telephone,  came  from  Frankfurt" 

"I  thought  it  was  Edison,"  said  Putnam. 

"He  only  perfected  it,  Mr.  Putnam,"  explained 
young  Levick.  "What  happened  in  the  case  of  the 
telephone  is  exactly  the  opposite  to  what  Mr.  Price 
was  saying." 

But  Price  was  not  to  be  put  oflF.  He  completed  his 
sentence,  as  though  no  interruption  had  occurred : 

and  that's  what  has  happened  with  the  sub- 


tt 


marines.    What  about  it,  Levick?'* 

"You're  quite  right,  Mr.  Price.  France,  at  the  end 
of  last  century,  began  experimenting  in  submarine 
construction." 

"France?  I  thought  it  was  America.  Edison,  this 
time,  surely  Edison?" 

"I  am  sorry  to  have  to  contradict  you,  uncle.  I 
do  not  pretend  to  advise  you  about  hops  and  malt ;  but 
you  will  acknowledge  that  I  am  an  expert  in  technical 
matters?'* 

"Well,  I  guess  the  boy's  right,*'  acknowledged 
Haynes. 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 


Levick,  nothing  loath,  went  on  with  his  exposition: 

"As  a  matter  of  fact  it  is  barely  ten  years  since  Ger- 
many started  building  submarines." 

"They're  damned  murderous  things,  whoever  in- 
vented them,"  snapped  Putnam. 

"Maybe,   Mr.    Putnam,   but   so  are   Mausers  and 
Seventy-fives.     Curiously  enough  the  idea  of  sailing 
under  water  was  a  favorite  one  in  the  middle  ages-^ 
among  pirates." 

Haynes  laughed. 

"Pirates!  I  should  think  so.  There  we  have  it. 
But  to  think  of  it  beginning  all  that  way  back !" 

The  submarine  question  was  moving  America  very 
deeply  in  those  days  and  Putnam  and  Price  listened 
with  interest.  Levick  noticed  their  absorption  with 
satisfaction. 

"There's  an  old  poem,  twelfth  century,  I  believe,  a 
German  poem " 

"German,  of  course !"  cried  the  other  three. 

"This  poem  tells  of  a  cunning  fellow  called  Marolf, 
who  had  a  boat  of  some  kind  that  could  sail  for  four- 
teen days  under  water." 

Haynes  gave  an  exclamation  of  incredulity. 

"The  poem  says  so,  uncle  !'* 

"Perfect  rubbish!" 

"Rubbish,  if  you  like ;  but  at  least  it  shows  how  old 
the  idea  is  of  sailing  under  water.  Another  piece  of 
evidence  is  that  the  Swedish  bishop  Olaus  Magnus  of 
Upsala  tells  that  in  his  time  there  were  pirates  who 
sailed  under  water  in  leathern  vessels  making  great 
holes  in  the  merchantman  they  encountered." 

"Also  German,  I  suppose?"  asked  Putnam. 

"Why,  of  course!"  said  Haynes. 

But  Price  was  doubtful. 

"If  this  Upsala  fellow  says  so  it  looks  as  though 
they  were  Swedes  or  something  of  that  kind." 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 


"It  makes  no  difference.  They're  all  tarred  with 
the  same  brush,  that  lot!" 

Which  effort  at  humor  so  overcame  the  worthy 
Haynes  that  he  choked  and  was  perforce  silent  for 
several  minutes. 

The  other  three  had  not  continued  their  conversa- 
tion for  very  long  before  the  entrance  of  the  smoking- 
room  waiter,  with  a  stop-press  bulletin  in  his  hand, 
attracted  general  attention.  Levick  took  the  paper 
and  read  aloud:  "The  three  English  cruisers  Hope, 
Lion  and  Tenacity  were  sister  ships  built  in  1899  ^^^ 
1900  with  12,190  tons  displacement  and  engines  of 
21,000  horse-power.  They  carried  two  heavy,  twelve 
medium  and  fifteen  light  guns.  The  crews  numbered 
eight  hundred  and  nine  hundred  men.  It  is  believed 
that  seventeen  hundred  were  drowned;  the  rest  were 
saved  by  a  Dutch  steamer.  The  commander  of  the 
submarine  was  Captain  Stim  of  Wilhelmshaven." 

For  a  moment  no  one  spoke.    Then : 

'Seventeen  hundred  drowned,"  gasped  Haynes. 

*At  least  they  were  soldiers,"  put  in  Putnam. 

*And  how  many  widows  will  they  have  left?"  said 
Price  bitterly. 

"Legitimate  sailors'  luck,  anyhow,"  commented  Lev- 
ick. "Supposing  it  had  been  a  passenger  steamer! 
But  that  at  any  rate,  thank  God,  is  out  of  the  question." 

"I  wonder,"  murmured  Haynes  a  little  doubtfully. 

"No,  uncle,  that  certainly  not.  I  know  the  Ger- 
mans too  well.  Liners!  Never!  It  would  be  in- 
credible ...  it  would  be  murder  ...  I" 

After  a  moment's  pause  he  asked : 

"By  the  way,  what  was  the  name  of  the  captain  who 
brought  off  this  great  coup  ?     Wasn't  it  Stirn  ?" 

Price  glanced  at  the  paper  which  he  held  in  his  hand. 

"Stirn  it  was.  Does  the  name  convey  anything  to 
you,  Levick?' 


"i 


s»» 


8  THE    SHIP   OF  DEATH 

"Yes,  indeed  it  does;  and  it  will  to  you  also  if  you 
throw  your  minds  back  a  little.  The  fellow  had  a 
position  in  the  best  New  York  society  a  little  before 
the  war.    You  know  Lady  Mabel  Roade?" 

"You  mean  the  wife  of  the  English  attache  ?'* 

"Exactly.  She  is,  as  you  know,  Henry  Withcomb's 
only  daughter  and  Withcomb  is  a  director  of  the 
Standard  Oil  Company.  God  knows  how  many  mil- 
lions the  girl  is  worth.  This  Captain  Stirn,  if  one  is 
to  believe  what  one  hears,  was  at  one  time  a  predeces- 
sor of  Lord  Arthur  Roade." 

"How  do  you  mean  'predecessor,'  Bob?"  asked  his 
uncle. 

"Nothing  offensive,  by  dear  uncle,  I  assure  you.  A 
young  lady  in  Mabel  Withcomb's  position  has  ten 
suitors  to  every  finger,  and  one  of  the  hundred  was  this 
fellow  Stirn.  They  say  that  in  the  spring  of  191 4  the 
announcement  of  their  engagement  was  daily  expected. 
Then  Lord  Arthur  suddenly  made  his  appearance  at 
the  home  on  Long  Island  and  the  German  naval  cap- 
tain's chances  fell  rapidly  below  par.  In  May  Miss 
Withcomb  married  Roade  and  the  captain,  about  whom 
there  had  been  a  good  deal  of  talk  ..." 

"What  sort  of  talk.  Bob?"  asked  Haynes. 

"Oh,  that  he  was  working  over  here  for  the  German 
Government." 

"Oh,  indeed.  ..." 

"And  the  captain,  as  I  was  saying,  went  hack  to 
Europe.  I  can  imagine  old  Withcomb  thanking 
heaven  that  Roade  turned  up  when  he  did  and  gave 
him  as  son-in-law  a  British  peer,  rather  than  a  Ger- 
man naval  officer  who  goes  round  sinking  English 
cruisers  off  the  coast  of  Holland." 

"What  are  the  Roades  doing  now.  Bob?"  asked 
Hajmes. 

"As  it  happens,  I  know   fairly  accurately.     Lady 


W-'^w??¥*;ir>f  KK  "'w-s;;  ^•f.-. 


THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH 


Roade  was  expecting  a  baby  in  March  and  engaged 
my  sister's  nurse.  This  woman — ^her  name  is  Garri- 
son— went  to  Withcomb's  house  on  Long  Island  to 
be  ready  for  the  kid's  arrival  and  they  told  her  that 
she  must  be  prepared  to  sail  to  England  as  soon  after 
the  birth  as  possible,  as  Lord  Arthur  is  believed  to 
have  been  appointed  to  an  important  post  in  the  For- 
eign Office." 

"I'd  think  twice  about  crossing  just  now,  with  the 
insurance  rates  going  up  every  day,'*  said  the  cautious 
Haynes. 

But  the  others  laughed  at  him. 

"The  ship  the  Roades  will  cross  by  is  as  safe  as  a 
soul  on  Abraham's  bosom." 

"All  the  same,  I'd  as  soon  stop  in  Boston  as  go 
traveling  about  with  babies  and  women  and  Lord 
knows  what,  and  the  sea  full  of  mines."  After  which 
reflection  Haynes  threw  off  his  gloom  and  suggested 
another  rubber.  The  others  agreed  and  in  five  min- 
utes they  were  deep  in  their  game  without  a  thought 
of  submarines  or  of  Lady  Mabel  Roade  and  her  im- 
pending voyage. 


■■■-•   '^ 


CHAPTER   II 

THE  weeks  passed  slowly  by.  In  the  great  New 
York  clubs  bridge,  politics  and  vast  business 
profits  marked  the  progress  of  a  period  of  al- 
most unbelievable  prosperity.  For  did  not  America 
live  in  profound  peace  while  across  the  ocean  the  old 
world  was  bleeding  itself  to  death  ? 

It  seemed  as  though  the  legend  of  King  Midas  was 
coming  true,  for  everything  that  was  touched  turned 
into  gold  before  their  astonished  eyes.  The  great 
men  of  America  piled  up  stores  of  wheat  and  maize 
while  Europe  had  neither  time  nor  men  to  do  more 
than  wrest  the  barest  necessaries  of  life  from  the  soil, 
so  horribly  manured  by  the  blood  of  its  children.  The 
warehouses  on  the  quays  held  millions  of  bushels  of 
grain  waiting  to  be  swallowed  up  by  the  huge  steamers 
that  carried  them  to  London  where  they  would  be 
changed  into  money.  And  not  only  grain,  but  oil,  cot- 
ton, meat,  leather,  iron,  steel,  explosives  and  the  hun- 
dred and  one  other  things  of  which  America  had,  over 
night,  become  purveyor  to  a  world  that  paid  promptly 
and  in  good  yellow  gold. 

Already  by  Christmas  the  balance  sheets  of  private 
and  limited  companies  had  attained  unheard-of  dimen- 
sions. Three  months  had  produced  a  turn-over  ten  or 
even  twenty  times  as  great  as  the  turn-over  of  a  normal 
year.  The  trades  in  luxuries  boomed,  the  theatres 
raked  in  money,  the  profits  of  the  great  department 
stores  rose  ever  higher.  New  York,  and  behind  New 
York  the  whole  United  States,  had  become  the  first 
market  of  the  world.  Of  this  market  the  beating 
heart  was  Wall  Street. 

lO 


THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH  ii 


Gtermany  protested:  "No  munitions  for  our  ene- 
mies!" 

And  the  mocking  reply  came  back:  "We  deliver 
goods  to  whom  we  will.  No  one  prevents  you  from 
placing  orders  with  us." 

And  between  Berlin  and  Washington,  Washington 
and  Berlin,  the  exchange  of  diplomatic  notes  went  on. 
They  were  polite  notes  but  their  effect  was  only  theo- 
retical. Nevertheless  all  the  time  the  spectre  of  the 
submarine  raised  slowly  and  ever  more  menacingly  its 
Gorgon  head.  People  spoke  of  English  merchantmen 
sailing  under  neutral  flags;  there  was  even  talk  of 
English  owners  engaging  American  crews,  in  order 
to  sow  a  seed  of  hate  between  the  old  world  and  the 
new,  that  should  bear  fruit  with  the  first  hurt  done  to 
an  American  citizen.  And  day  and  night,  night  and 
day,  the  stream  of  gold  flowed  oil 

The  brilliant  sunshine  of  an  April  day  glittered  on 
the  Hudson  River.  Ships  of  all  countries  flew  proudly 
in  the  sparkling  air  their  varied  flags.  Only  the  en- 
signs of  Germany  and  Austria  were  absent,  banished 
from  the  seas  by  England's  power.  At  the  entrance 
of  the  harbor  the  colossal  statue  of  Liberty  with  its  up- 
raised hand  of  bronze,  seemed  to  be  saying:  "Mine 
are  these  seas  and  mine  are  all  these  lands!" 

Suddenly  the  sound  of  a  bell  rang  across  the  crowded, 
harbor.  The  Gigantic  was  ready  to  sail.  At  her 
masthead  flew  the  Union  Jack.  She  was  the  pride 
of  England;  before  the  launching  of  the  Imperator, 
the  swiftest  and  mightiest  liner  afloat.  Invincible, 
unsinkable,  she  defied  storm  and  tempest,  fog  and  ice- 
berg. Snow-white  she  floated  like  a  mighty  swan  on 
the  yellow  waters  of  the  Hudson,  while  upon  and 
around  her  splashed  the  golden  brilliance  of  the  April 
sun. 


12  THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH 

For  days,  ton  after  ton  of  merchandise  had  been 
deposited  into  the  black  caverns  of  her  hold.  Now 
that  the  hour  of  her  departure  had  arrived  crowds 
forced  their  way  toward  the  steamer  which  was  to 
carry  two  thousand  five  hundred  passengers  with  a 
crew  numbered  nearly  seven  hundred.  Barely  a  cabin 
or  a  berth  in  the  three  classes  of  the  Gigantic  was  left 
vacant.  The  terror  of  the  German  submarine  seemed, 
during  the  winter,  to  have  died  away  and  in  London 
and  New  York  people  began  to  speak  of  this  terror 
with  a  superior  and  slightly  patronizing  smile.  It 
was  becoming  the  fashion  to  make  heavy  bets  on  the 
chances  of  a  ship's  safety.  In  the  residences  on  Long 
Island,  in  the  Fifth  Avenue  clubs,  in  the  city  cafes 
and  offices,  in  the  suburban  boarding  houses,  men 
wagered  on  the  probable  fortune  of  this  ship  and"  of 
that.  The  odds  averaged  ten  to  one  against  disaster, 
so  great  was  England's  sea  power,  so  invincible  her 
blockade. 

Motionless,  majestic,  the  Gigantic  lay  at  anchor, 
while  the  dancing  wavelets  of  the  Hudson  lapped  her 
giant  sides.  An  old  sailor  leant  against  her  polished 
rail.  The  clay-pipe  in  his  mouth,  his  weather-beaten 
cheeks,  his  firm  set  lips,  spoke  the  Dutchman  rather 
than  the  Briton.  He  was  first  mate  of  the  Gigantic, 
Jan  van  der  Linden  from  Zandvoort  on  the  North  Sea, 
and  for  years  in  the  service  of  the  British  steamship 
company.  As  he  stood  there  quietly,  an  excited  little 
man  ran  up  to  him  and  asked  in  broken  English  : 

"Is  this  thing  true?" 

"Is  what  true,  sir?" 

The  little  man  handed  Jan  a  crumpled  piece  of  paper. 
Although  the  sailor  did  not  know,  this  was  Reuben 
Oppenheimer,  a  banker  of  Broadway,  for  fifteen  years 
an  American  citizen  and  now  traveling  to  England. 
But  his  years  of  naturalization  could  not  alter  the  fact 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  13 


that  he  had  been  born  in  the  Landsbergerstrasse  of 
East  Berlin. 

"So  you  got  this  thing,  too,  sir?"  said  Jan  at  last, 
slowly  and  without  emotion.  "It  seems  that  all  the 
first-class  passengers  have  received  one.  It's  only  a 
trick  of  the  German  Embassy,  who  wish  to  frighten 
passengers  and  damage  the  company.  Nothing  more 
than  that.  You  can  see  it  was  posted  yesterday  here 
in  New  York.  They  are  all  alike,  hectographed  to 
save  expense.  German  all  over.  Munitions  on  board. 
Masked  guns  behind  the  bulkheads.  Yes,  indeed, 
thousands  of  cases  of  munitions,  and  the  Gigantic  no 
liner  but  an  auxiliary  cruiser.  Of  course,  you  are 
scared.  The  only  thing  about  it  is  that  it  doesn't  hap- 
pen to  be  true." 

And  Jan  van  der  Linden  smiled  all  over  his  face. 

But  Oppenheimer  had  lost  his  nerve.  This  fatal 
missive  threw  him  into  hopeless  perplexity : 

Dear  Sir: 

As  we  understand  that  you  have  the  intention  of  making  a 
voyage  to  England  by  the  Gigantic  we  take  this  opportunity  of 
pointing  out  to  you  that  the  Gigantic  carries  munitions  and  guns, 
is  consequently  no  passenger  steamer  but  an  auxiliary  cruiser; 
and  is,  therefore,  liable  to  be  sunk  when  approaching  the  English 
coast.    We  are,  Sir, 

Your  obedient  servants, 

The  signature  was  illegible. 

The  little  man's  terror  was  not  hid  from  van  der 
Linden,  who  knew  only  too  well  the  type  of  person 
who  haunted  the  Amsterdam  exchange.  He  realized 
fully  that  Oppenheimer  was  torn  between  a  desire  to 
win  the  thousands  of  pounds  awaiting  him  in  London 
and  Liverpool  and  a  cold  terror  lest  what  the  letter 
said  be  true,  and  lest,  indeed,  the  Gigantic  carried 
guns  and  munitions  of  war.  The  first  mate  spoke 
coldly,  almost  contemptuously : 


"(Kgiufi     ti  'X^ 


14  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

"You  have  only  to  say  the  word,  sir.  The  com- 
pany announced  this  morning  that  they  would  refund 
the  passage  money  to  anyone  who  wished  to  cancel 
his  contract  as  a  result  of  this  rumor.  It  is  only 
necessary  to  go  to  the  office,  just  over  there  by  the 
bridge.    There  is  plenty  of  time." 

Oppenheimer  was  in  despair.  He  took  his  glasses 
from  his  nose  and  wiped  them  anxiously.  The  sweat 
stood  out  on  his  forehead  and  with  his  handkerchief 
he  mopped  his  large  bald  head.  Then,  with  a  supreme 
effort,  he  made  up  his  mind.     He  called  to  a  porter : 

"Get  the  luggage  out  of  number  121,  one  big  box 
and  two  suit  cases,  and  take  them  on  shore." 

"Right,  sir,  anything  in  the  hold?" 

Oppenheimer  shook  his  head,  turned  on  his  heel 
and  hurried  away. 

Van  der  Linden  lit  his  pipe  again,  watched  the  little 
man  disappear  into  the  crowd,  and  spat  copiously  into 
the  river.  He  had  no  use  for  that  kind  of  person,  he 
who  was  about  to  celebrate  his  hundredth  Atlantic 
crossing. 

Yet  Oppenheimer  was  not  the  only  one  upon  whom 
the  anonymous  letter  had  taken  effect.  In  the  office 
of  the  Company  was  lined  a  queue  of  people,  their 
tickets  in  their  hands,  waiting  to  get  their  money  back. 
The  clerks,  with  a  polite  smile,  took  the  tickets  and 
paid  out  the  money  with  perfect  nonchalance  and  with- 
out a  word  either  of  protest  or  advice. 

Outside  the  office  on  the  quay  was  a  great  crowd  of 
people.  The  news  of  the  warning  letter  had  got  into 
the  morning  papers,  the  insurance  rates  had  jumped 
up  five  per  cent  and  the  betting  on  the  safety  of  the 
Gigantic  was  now  ten  to  six  instead  of  ten  to  one. 
Gossip  flew  from  mouth  to  mouth.  Her  cargo  was 
worth  ten  million  dollars.  She  had  bullion  on  board 
for  England.  ... 


pww.ifi 


THE    SHIP    OF   DEATH  15 

Through  the  excited  throng  the  bookmakers  pushed 
their  way.  Bet  after  bet  they  registered,  promising  to 
pay  up  punctually  in  eleven  days  as  soon  as  the  Gigan- 
tic's  arrival  was  cabled  from  the  other  side.  The 
figures  had  risen  into  thousands  when,  for  the  second 
time,  the  Gigantic' s  siren  sounded.  On  board  the  band 
struck  up  a  loud  march.  The  decks  were  black  with 
people.  Cries  were  uttered,  handkerchiefs  waved, 
farewells  shouted.  The  mighty  engines  stirred  into 
thunderous  song,  steam  hissed  in  the  funnels.  But 
still  the  ship  lay  motionless,  waiting  .  .  . 

At  the  back  of  the  quay  a  motor  honked  suddenly. 
The  crowd  fell  rapidly  to  left  and  right  and  a  mag- 
nificent limousine  drew  up  at  the  pier.  A  tall,  clean- 
shaven man,  the  English  aristocrat  in  every  line,  leaped 
from  the  car.  He  was  followed  by  a  short,  stout 
gentleman,  the  traditional  American  of  fiction.  To- 
gether they  helped  from  the  motor  a  buxom  woman  in 
nurse's  uniform,  carrying  a  bundle  of  white  lace  tied 
here  and  there  with  pink  silk  ribbon.  Finally,  Lady 
Mabel  Roade  herself  stepped  from  the  car.  She  was 
little  more  than  twenty  and  loveliness  itself.  Her 
great  dark  blue  eyes— eyes  such  as  only  American 
women  have — ^were  brighter  than  all  the  millions  of 
her  father's  fortune.  Her  hair  was  more  golden  than 
the  enormous  wealth  amassed  by  Withcomb  in  the 
years  of  a  busy  and  successful  life.  She  was  so  beau- 
tiful that  the  crowd  forgot  for  a  moment  their  bets 
and  the  anonymous  letter  and  gazed  entranced  at  Mabel 
Roade. 

She  took  her  husband's  arm  and  together  they  went 
on  board  the  steamer.  The  nurse  with  her  precious 
burden  followed.  Henry  Withcomb,  left  behind  on 
the  quay,  removed  his  glasses  and  wiped  his  eyes. 

"Kind  of  dazzles  you,  the  sun  to-day,"  he  remarked 
to  an  acquaintance  standing  by. 


i6  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

"Put  your  money  on  her  chances!  Will  she  be 
sunk  or  will  she  not?** 

As  the  voice  sounded  behind  him,  Withcomb  turned 
sharply.     "A  thousand  dollars  on  her  safety!" 

The  bookmaker  hugged  himself.  This  was  the  best 
business  he  had  done  that  day. 

For  a  third  time  the  siren  sounded.  The  mighty 
steamer  seemed  to  shudder.  Drums  rolled,  the  trum- 
pets blew  a  shattering  blast.  The  screws  churned  the 
shimmering  waters  of  the  Hudson.  The  Gigantic  put 
out  to  sea. 

Standing  by  the  rail,  Mabel  Roade,  golden  as  dawn, 
fluttered  a  white  handkerchief  in  her  tiny  hand. 


CHAPTER   III 

WHEN  night  fell  the  Gigantic  had  been  for 
hours  in  the  open  sea.  The  first  and  second 
class  dining  saloons  had  filled  for  dinner  and 
emptied  again.  The  steerage  passengers  had  finished 
their  last  meal  of  the  day.  Amid  the  luxury  of  the 
saloon  deck  wealthy  New  York  smoked  and  chattered 
of  its  manifold  interests.  There  had  been  little  news 
in  the  latest  papers  before  New  York  was  left  behind. 
The  great  battle  of  Ypres  seemed  to  have  reached  a 
deadlock  of  mutual  exhaustion;  there  was  no  special 
news  from  the  Polish  front.  Talk  soon  strayed,  there- 
fore, away  from  high  politics  and  centred  round  the 
absorptions  and  sensations  of  rich  American  life.  In 
the  second-class  smoking-room  business  talk  held  the 
field.  The  steerage  had  either  sought  their  berths  or 
were  discussing  their  mutual  hopes  and  fears  over  the 
bar. 

From  the  crew*s  mess-room  came  the  plaintive  whine 
of  a  concertina.  The  room  was  a  large  one,  far  below 
the  quarter-deck  and  just  above  the  Gigantic* s  hold. 
At  this  hour  the  place  was  practically  empty,  for  the 
men  who  had  been  on  day  duty  had  gone  to  their  bunks 
and  those  of  the  night-shift  were  naturally  at  their 
post.  A  sleepy  barmaid  stood  behind  the  buffet,  wip- 
ing glasses.  Near  her,  hunched  up  at  one  of  the 
scrubbed  wooden  tables,  a  boy  of  fourteen  years  played 
on  the  concertina.  He  was  slowly  picking  out  the 
tune  of  the  old  English  folk  song,  "Long,  Long  Ago," 
and  as  he  played,  tears  rolled  down  his  rosy  cheeks. 
At  this  moment  old  Jan  van  der  Linden  came  into  the 
room  with  a  cheery: 

17 


1 8  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

"Good  evening,  Lizzie!  Sixpennorth  o'  grog, 
please.'* 

And  the  old  man  threw  some  money  on  to  the  coun- 
ter. 

The  barmaid  acknowledged  his  greeting  and  care- 
fully dried  her  hands  on  her  blue  apron.  Then  she 
reached  up  to  the  shelf  behind  her  for  the  rum 
bottle. 

"More  rum  than  water,"  cautioned  Jan.  "There's 
a  bit  of  wind  and  I  have  the  watch  from  midnight." 

Lizzie  did  her  best.  The  glass  she  handed  to  Jan 
was  two-thirds  rum  and  only  one-third  boiling  water 
from  the  electric  kettle  whispering  at  her  side.  Jan 
took  a  sip  and  smacked  his  lips.  "First  rate!"  he 
growled,  and  pinched  Lizzie's  cheek  affectionately,  an 
attention  she  accepted  without  resentment.  Then  the 
old  man  put  his  glass  down  on  the  counter  and  began 
leisurely  to  fill  his  pipe.  It  was  at  this  moment  that  he 
caught  sight  for  the  first  time  of  the  boy  crouched  at 
the  neighboring  table.  The  lad  had  stopped  playing 
when  the  old  man  entered. 

"And  what  are  you  up  to  here  ?"  he  asked. 

But  the  boy  said  nothing,  only  gazed  at  the  old  sea- 
man with  large  and  dreamy  eyes. 

"What  are  you  gaping  at  me  for,  boy,  and  who  are 
you,  anyway?** 

As  the  lad  still  remained  silent,  Lizzie  came  to  his 
aid: 

"His  name's  Pitt  and  this  is  his  first  voyage.  He'll 
have  a  bad  time  probably,  poor  lad.  The  sea's  getting 
up.  Hicks  took  him  on  for  the  kitchen  but  kicked  him 
out  just  before  dinner  because  he  was  sick  over  the 
mashed  potatoes.     That's  why  he's  crying." 

Jan  van  der  Linden  laughed  aloud. 

"Don't  take  on  about  a  thing,  like  that,  laddie,**  he 
said  kindly.     "That  happens  to  every  landlubber  on 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  19 

his  first  Atlantic  voyage.    You'll  get  over  it  all  right. 
Where  do  you  come  from?'* 

"I'm  not  crying  because  o*  what  she  said,"  sobbed 
the  boy.  "I  don't  know  why  I  am  crying,  except  that 
I  am  miserable." 

"Homesick,  poor  child,*'  smiled  Miss  Lizzie. 

The  boy  took  no  notice  of  her.  He  turned  to  Jan 
and  asked,  "And  who  are  you,  sir?" 
*  "To  you  I  am  Jan,  just  as  to  me  you  are  Pitt," 
laughed  the  old  man.  "What  do  folks  like  us  want 
with  another  name  ?  We  can't  boast  blue  blood  either 
of  us.     All  that  sort  are  swilling  champagne  upstairs." 

And  he  jerked  a  clenched  fist  in  the  direction  of 
the  saloon  deck. 

The  boy  became  suddenly  confidential. 

"My  father  works  in  a  factory  in  Jersey  City  and 
he  talks  like  that." 

"There,  you  see,  I  was  right !  Give  the  lad  a  glass 
o'  grog,  Lizzie.    I'll  stand  for  it." 

But  Pitt  refused. 

"I  have  never  touched  rum  or  whiskey ;  my  mother 
says  that  spirits  are  the  source  of  all  unhappiness." 

"What  unhappiness  ?'* 

"Ours,  Jan.  There  are  eleven  of  us  and  I  am  the 
oldest  and  since  he  married  mother  all  father's  wages 
have  gone  in  drink.  So  I'm  going  to  England,  and 
when  I  have  earned  a  lot  of  money  I  shall  bring  my 
mother  and  sisters  over  and  then  father  can't  beat  them 


>* 


any  more. 

"But  why  go  to  England?  I  should  have  thought 
that  money  was  easier  to  make  in  America  ?'* 

"My  mother  has  a  brother  in  Liverpool.  He  has 
no  children.  He  is  a  cabinetmaker  and  earns  lots  of 
money.  I  am  going  to  him,  and  got  taken  on  as  cook's 
boy  for  the  free  passage.  How  was  I  to  pay  my  pas- 
sage when  there  was  no  money  at  home  ?" 


20  THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH 

"Well,  Lizzie,  let's  respect  the  lad's  principles  and 
give  him  a  glass  of  milk." 

Jan  felt  in  his  pocket  preparing  to  pay. 

"No,  please  let  me  pay  for  my  own  milk,  Jan.  Can 
you  change  that,  miss?'* 

When  he  saw  the  five  dollar  bill,  Jan's  eyebrows  went 
up  into  his  head.  "Five  dollars!  And  you've  just 
been  telling  us  that  you've  no  money  to  pay  for  the 
passage  because  your  father  drank  it  all,  and  now  you 
go  and  change  five  dollars !" 

"I  was  given  it  to-day,  on  board,"  said  the  lad  sim- 
ply- 

"Oh,  of  course  !'* 

"It's  true,  don't  you  believe  me,  Jan?'* 

"Why  shouldn't  I  believe  you,  boy?" 

Pitt  explained: 

"Hicks  sent  me  into  the  first  class  to  find  Gilbert  the 
steward,  because  the  steak  was  ready  to  be  served.  I 
met  a  lady  in  the  passage,  who  looked  at  me  a  minute 
and  then  without  a  word  gave  me  five  dollars.  I  didn't 
know  what  to  do  or  say.  I  stammered  thanks  and 
was  about  to  ask  her  what  she  wished  me  to  do  when 
she  turned  and  walked  away." 

"Funny  thing,"  muttered  Jan  thoughtfully.  And 
Lizzie  was  also  interested. 

"Was  the  lady  fair?" 

"Yes,  with  golden  hair  like  the  angels  in  the  altar 
piece  in  St.  James's." 

"Was  she  alone,  Pitt?" 

"No,  she  was  with  a  nurse  who  held  a  baby  all 
wrapped  up  in  lace." 

"It  certainly  is  very  odd.  Do  you  know  what  the 
lady  was,  Pitt?" 

The  boy  shook  his  head. 

"That  was  Lady  Mabel  Roade  ..."  and  the  old 
man  stood  a  moment  muttering  to  himself.     He  took 


THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH  21 

a  drink  of  his  grog,  put  another  match  to  his  pipe  and 
then  glanced  quietly  at  the  barmaid. 

"And  what  do  you  want  to  ask  me,  Lizzie?  I've 
seen  the  question  in  your  eye  the  whole  time  IVe  been 
in  here.  But  I  guess  I  know  what  it  is.  You  want 
to  know  whether  it's  true  we  have  munitions  on 
board." 

"Yes,  I  should  say  I  did  want  to  know.  But  how 
did  you  guess?" 

"Simply  because  if  I  have  been  asked  that  once  I've 
been  asked  it  three  dozen  times  to-day." 

"Well,  and  have  we,  Jan  ?" 

"I  do  not  know.  But  I  always  say  that  we  have  not. 
That  is  my  duty.  This  lady  Pitt  was  speaking  about 
asked  me  the  question  and  gave  me  five  dollars.  Yes, 
yes,  it's  true.  I  wanted  to  return  the  money,  tried 
to  get  her  to  take  it  back,  but  she  said,  *You  must  take 
it,  because  of  a  vow.'  Do  you  think  she  is  quite  right 
in  her  head,  Lizzie  ?" 

"Heaven  knows !  This  five  dollar  bill  business  .  .  . 
This  one  was  give  me  by  the  lady,  too." 

And  the  barmaid  took  a  bill  from  her  pocket  and 
showed  it  to  Jan  and  Pitt. 

"She  pretended  she  wanted  to  see  over  the  ship  and 
came  down  here  in  the  afternoon  with  the  captain  and 
gave  everybody  present  five  dollars  each.  Ask  Mary 
who  washes  the  plates,  ask  Smith  who  clears  away. 
It's  God's  truth!" 

Jan  scratched  his  white  head. 

"It's  a  vow,  she  said  to  me.  A  vow.  .  .  .  Lots  of 
folk  are  superstitious,  especially  at  sea — and  at  times 
like  these — especially  at  times  like  these.  I  suppose 
she  got  one  of  those  damned  letters  like  that  little 
Jew  fellow  showed  to  me  this  morning.  ..." 

"Which  letters?" 
'Oh,  an  anonymous  letter  of  warning  to  passengers 


«/ 


22  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

not  to  go  by  the  Gigantic  because  she  carried  munitions 
for  England." 

"So  we  have  munitions  on  board!  I  shall  never 
get  to  Liverpool." 

The  words  came  from  Pitt's  lips  like  a  cry  of  fore- 
knowledge. Lizzie  almost  screamed,  "There  are  mu- 
nitions!    This  is  a  ship  of  death!" 

Old  Jan  cut  in  roughly : 

"Don't  talk  like  lunatics!  I  tell  you  that  we  have 
no  munitions!" 

"And  what  about  all  the  cases  put  on  board  at  night," 
asked  Pitt. 

"And  the  wooden  boxes  brought  on  board  at  the 
last  minute  ?  I  saw  them  going  down  below,  hundreds 
of  boxes." 

Jan  van  der  Linden  cut  across  Lizzie's  moaning  with 
decisive  sharpness. 

"The  cases  are  canned  meat  from  Chicago.  Read 
the  manifest  if  you  don't  believe  me.  It's  all  written 
out  there." 

They  answered  him  not  a  word.  But  the  boy,  with 
his  head  bowed  on  the  table,  whimpered :  "I  shall  never 
get  to  Liverpool !" 

For  several  minutes  a  silence  as  of  the  grave  filled 
the  Gigantic's  mess-room,  the  very  shadow  of  death 
seemed  to  hover  over  the  ship.  Tirelessly  the  engines 
worked.  One  could  hear  no  other  sound,  no  human 
voice,  nothing  but  the  rattle  of  the  wheels,  the  dull 
thud  of  the  pistons  and  the  deep  gurgle  of  the  Atlantic 
washing  the  steel  walls  of  the  mighty  ship.  Suddenly 
Jan  spoke  again : 

**It  was  like  this  near  Coram  Island,  when  the 
Kbnigin  Henrietta  was  lost." 

After  a  pause  he  went  on : 

"Thirty-five  years  ago  it  all  happened.  The  Konigin 
Henrietta  belonged  to  Blankenhuis  of  Rotterdam  and 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  23 

did  the  trip  from  the  Celebes  to  the  little  Sunda  Islands 
in  the  Indian  Ocean." 

His  audience  counted  now  not  only  Lizzie  and  Pitt 
but  quite  a  number  of  sailors  just  off  duty  and  anx- 
ious for  a  drink.  But  for  the  moment  they  forgot 
their  cold  and  thirst,  waiting  as  though  bewitched  for 
the  old  man  to  go  on  with  his  story.  It  was  generally 
known  that  long,  long  ago  he  had  been  saved,  as  though 
by  a  special  providence,  from  death  by  drowning. 

And  Jan  went  on : 

"She  was  a  rotten  old  tub  of  a  sailer  with  a  cargo 
of  tobacco  and  rice  from  Macassar  for  Ceram.  A 
monsoon  had  come  up  from  the  East  Indies  and  the 
sea  was  terrible.  I  was  standing  at  the  bow  with  my 
eye  to  the  telescope.  I  was  On  the  lookout  for  the 
palm  trees  of  Ceram  which  should  by  right  have  been 
coming  into  view  on  the  horizon.  We  were  only 
three  or  four  knots  from  land  when '* 

"What  happened?    What  was  it?" 

The  cry  rose  from  Lizzie,  from  Pitt,  from  all  the 
sailors. 

The  old  man  replied  simply : 

"I  do  not  know  myself,  children.  Was  it  a  mon- 
strous wave?  If  so,  I  never  saw  such  a  one  in  all 
my  days.  I  can  only  tell  you  that  I  still  stood  there 
drenched  to  the  skin  and  from  the  captain's  bridge 
came  a  roar  like  a  wild  beast's :  *A11  hands  on  decks !' 
But  it  was  too  late.  The  storm  had  picked  up  the 
Konigin  Henrietta  and  simply  chucked  her  on  to  a 
reef.  They  are  the  terror  of  the  Indian  Ocean,  those 
coral  reefs,  children,  there  among  all  those  little  is- 
lands. ...  If  you  get  your  compass  broken  and  lose 
your  course,  God  have  mercy  on  you!  And  so  it 
was  with  us.  I  read  after  in  the  papers — Gtood  God ! 
what  do  newspaper  scribblers  know  of  a  thing  like 
that? — ^that  she  was  broken  clean  in  two  and  sank 


24  THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH 

down  .  .  .  down  .  .  .  with  every  living  thing  on 
board,  children  .  .  .  with  her  rice  and  her  tobacco 
.  .  .  and  was  never  seen  again." 

"And  you  ?" 

"Perhaps  it  was  the  devil  that  thrust  the  spar  be- 
tween my  hands  .  .  .  the  devil  who  sent  the  whaler 
on  the  spot  where  old  Jan  struggled  with  the  storm. 
Perhaps  the  devil  .  .  .  perhaps  the  other  thing  .  .  . 
who  knows  ?  When  I  came  to  I  was  in  a  cabin,  in  dry- 
clothes  and  fuller  of  brandy  than  I  expect  I  shall  ever 
get  a  chance  of  being  again  so  long  as  I  live.  That 
is  all  I  can  tell  you,  and  I  felt  like  a  man  that  had 
leaped  suddenly  from  the  fires  of  hell  into  ice  cold 
water." 

The  listeners  neither  spoke  nor  moved,  so  intent 
were  they  on  the  old  man's  story.  Jan  suddenly 
changed  his  tone : 

"But  there!  The  Konigin  Henrietta  was  almost  a 
wreck  to  start  with.  In  Rotterdam  they  used  to  call 
it  the  floating  coffin.  Later  on  people  said  that  the 
scoundrels  had  only  sent  her  to  sea  to  get  the  insurance 
money.  Ceram  and  the  Celebes  are  a  long  way  from 
the  marine  courts.  What  has  a  story  like  that  to  do 
with  the  Gigantic f  The  Gigantic' s  safe  enough! 
Here's  to  her!" 

He  raised  his  glass  and  swallowed  the  last  mouthful 
of  grog.  The  other  sailors  crowded  round  Lizzie, 
who  secured  for  them  the  drinks  they  were  ordering. 
Only  little  Pitt  still  whimpered  to  himself:  "I  shall 
never  get  to  Liverpool!"  But  now  no  one  heeded 
him. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  weather  had  turned  fine  again.  The  south- 
east wind  which  for  the  last  forty-eight  hours 
had  ruffled  the  Atlantic,  had  subsided.  Only 
the  endless  distances,  the  sun,  the  blue  sky  and  the 
dark  green  water.  Tirelessly  the  Gigantic  pursued 
her  eastward  way.  She  was  four  days  out  from  the 
Hudson  and  a  third  of  her  voyage  was  over. 

The  steerage  was  cheerful.  Spring  weather,  wind- 
less air,  warmth  and  sunlight  invigorated  everyone. 
Nobody  remained  in  the  small  cabins  or  the  gloomy 
saloons  for  even  on  the  Gigantic,  the  greatest  and  most 
luxurious  liner  in  the  world,  life  in  the  steerage  is  not 
a  bed  of  roses.  The  opportunity  of  being  in  the  open 
air  on  a  beautiful  day  was  too  good  to  miss.  Sea- 
sickness was  forgotten.  Former  sufferers  breathed 
the  keen  air  and  felt  their  appetites  return. 

It  was  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  The  steerage 
passengers  were  mostly  young  people  of  the  working 
class.  English,  Americans,  French,  Italians,  Span- 
iards, Dutchmen  and  Portuguese,  all  were  merry  to- 
gether, for  they  had  been  collected  and  enlisted  for 
the  same  purpose.  They  were  going  to  England  to 
enter  the  munition  factories  at  the  behest  of  the  new 
English  Ministry  of  Munitions.  Every  language  of 
the  world  except  German  flew  hither  and  thither  about 
the  deck.  But  English  predominated.  The  central 
group  of  the  crowd  was  a  number  of  young  men  who 
had  improvised  a  game  of  football,  of  which  game  the 
rest  were  perforce  more  or  less  interested  spectators. 
There  was  betting  on  the  result.  Now  on  the  greens, 
now  on  the  reds. 

as 


26  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

Every  five  minutes  excitement  increased  as  the  game 
grew  more  heated.  "Well  played!"  "Quick  you, 
blighter!"  "En  avant!"  "Touch  down!"  "Male- 
detto!" 

The  babel  of  voices  rose  and  mingled. 

The  steerage  stewards  had  their  hands  full.  The 
young  men  had  left  New  York  with  plenty  of  money 
and  were  good  spenders.  Why  not?  In  America 
the  streets  are  paved  with  gold.  In  England  munition 
wages  were  high.  Besides,  who  knew  in  these  days 
how  long  he  had  to  live  ?  Gather  ye  roses  .  .  .  Make 
hay  while  the  sun  shines ! 

So  they  drank  and  sang  and  played  their  game; 
beer  and  whiskey,  bottle  after  bottle,  glass  upon  glass. 

With  her  back  to  the  wall  of  the  cabins  sat  a  woman 
of  under  thirty.  She  paid  no  attention  to  the  game, 
to  the  drinking  or  the  shouting,  she  seemed  not  to  hear 
the  songs  and  cheers  which  bade  fair  to  go  on  forever. 
She  was  poorly  dressed.  Her  large  dark  eyes  were 
full  of  trouble;  her  sunken  cheeks  spoke  of  hunger. 
She  was  not  an  English  nor  an  American  type.  For 
an  Italian  or  a  Spanish  woman  her  rich  long  hair  was 
too  light  in  color.  Perhaps  she  came  from  northern 
France,  from  the  territory  occupied  by  the  enemy, 
from  Lille  or  Arras.  When  one  looked  closely  into 
the  misery  of  her  eyes  one  saw  pictured,  almost  uncon- 
sciously, these  days  of  universal  horror — ^visions  of 
burning  villages,  of  farmsteads  scored  through  with 
trenches;  of  devastated  harvests;  of  flooded  fields;  of 
shattered  cathedrals  and  ruined  homes.  The  woman 
was  not  alone.  She  ignored  the  yelling  crowd,  for 
whom  this  voyage  and  the  world  war  seemed  a  pleasant 
excitement.  She  did  not,  however,  appear  to  blame 
them  for  their  light-heartedness ;  she  merely  did  not 
recognize  their  existence.     Her  dark  brown  cotton 


THE    SHIP   OF   DEATH  27 

blouse  was  open  at  the  breast  and  she  was  suckling  a 
tiny  child,  born  not  six  weeks  before  in  a  maternity- 
hospital  in  New  York. 

She  sang  softly  all  the  while. 


(( 


Dors,  dors,  dors,  mon  .  .  .  mon  .  .  .  mon  .  .  . 
Ton  Papa  est  au  front.  .  .  . 

Four  other  children,  three  girls  and  a  boy,  twittered 
like  chickens  round  her  skirts.  Their  ages  ranged 
from  five  to  two  years  and  their  sizes  diminished  as 
regularly  as  the  pipes  of  an  organ. 

"The  greens  are  winning,  mamma!"  cried  the  boy 
who  was  the  eldest.  Despite  his  five  years  he  had 
already  the  sharpness  of  a  street-Arab,  and  betrayed 
his  familiarity  with  most  of  the  tricks  of  the  slum  chil- 
dren of  New  York. 

But  the  woman  made  no  answer.  Unseeing,  her 
tearful  eyes  looked  over  the  vastness  of  the  sea.  The 
other  children  were  silent — ^half  in  fear — ^half  in  sym- 
pathy for  their  ever-weeping  mother.  Even  the  boy 
said  nothing  more. 

"You  are  crying  again,  Madame  Chapuisat,"  said  a 
voice  in  French  with  the  heavy  comical  accent  of  an 
English  woman. 

"Is  it  not  natural.  Miss  Blossom?" 

"Of  course  not.  Everything  will  come  right. 
Your  husband  is  only  missing!" 

'Only  mfssing!"  replied  the  other  bitterly. 
*Yes,  indeed,  he'll  turn  up  one  of  these  fine  days 
in  a  German  prison  camp.     Probably  he  will  be  ex- 
changed.    Let  us  never  give  up  hope.    Try  and  pull 
yourself  together !" 

She  who  spoke  those  comforting  words  was  a  young 
girl  of  under  twenty  and  of  remarkable  beauty.  Sit- 
ting down  she  took  Madame  Chapuisat's  hand  in  hers. 


"< 


2  8  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

'  '         ■     '  III  ■  .,     I      .■■    .11  ,    „  ■■     m  — II  ■     I  — .— ^ 

Despite  the  perfect  English  of  her  last  remark  she  did 
not  suggest  a  pure  Anglo-Saxon  origin.  Neither  fair 
nor  dark,  her  eyes  were  full  of  pity  as  they  rested  on 
Madame  Chapuisat  and  shone  with  an  unearthly  light. 
They  were  large  eyes,  beautiful  and  clear,  but  whether 
they  were  gray  or  green  no  one  could  tell.  Whatever 
their  color  they  gave  a  strange  charm  to  her  finely 
cut  features  and  her  rare  complexion. 

Miss  Blossom  appeared  somehow  to  be  unsuited  to 
her  surroundings.  She  was  not  well  dressed,  certainly 
— but  neither  were  her  clothes  gaudy  like  those  of  most 
of  the  young  people  in  the  steerage,  nor  wretchedly 
poor  as  were  those  of  Madame  Chapuisat  and  her 
children.  Yet  everything  she  wore  became  her  so  ad- 
mirably that  it  took  on  a  richness  and  dignity  far 
greater  than  its  actual  worth.  To  look  at  Miss  Blos- 
som, no  one  would  ever  suspect  that  she  made  all  her 
own  clothes.  Nor  could  anyone  guess  how,  after  hard 
days  of  work  she  toiled  through  many,  long,  wakeful 
nights — sewing  in  a  little  room  lit  only  by  an  oil 
lamp. 

Her  mother  had  been  English  and  her  father  Span- 
ish; it  was  perhaps  this  mixture  of  nationality  which 
give  her  that  unusual  beauty  which  is  often  the  fruit 
of  racial  intermarriage.  She  had  been  bom  in  St. 
Louis,  on  the  banks  of  the  Mississippi.  As  her  par- 
ents had  died  when  she  was  very  young  and  as  she 
had  received  but  scanty  and  unwilling  support  from 
distant  relatives,  she  had  been  forced  to  make  her  own 
way  in  life.  As  teacher,  companion,  lady's  maid  and 
even  as  an  ordinary  maid-servant,  she  had  taken  the 
rough  with  the  smooth.  But  her  mother's  elegance 
and  her  father's  pride  were  alike  part  and  parcel  of 
her  being. 

And  now,  even  as  she  sat  holding  the  hand  of  the 
poor  French  woman,  she  repeated : 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  29 

"Come,  cheer  up!     He  will  certainly  be  found." 

The  other  smiled  sadly  and  replied : 

"And  I  implored  him,  Miss  Blossom,  so  often  I 
implored  him !  On  my  knees  I  begged  him  to  stay  in 
New  York.  There  was  no  need  for  him  to  go.  We 
were  happy  there  and  he  was  earning  good  money. 
And  then  came  the  summons  from  the  French  Em- 
bassy and  he  went  away.  He  went  laughing,  Miss 
Blossom,  laughing,  as  he  left  his  wife  and  children, 
with  the  tri-color  in  his  hat  and  the  Marseillaise  on 
his  lips.  That  was  how  he  left  us.  Miss  Blossom — left 
us  to  go  to  his  death !" 

"But,  dear  Madame  Chapuisat!  .  .  .  thousands 
have  gone  like  that,  thousands." 

Madame  Chapuisat  was  not  moved  by  this  obvious 
argument.     She  continued : 

"Thousands.  Yes,  Miss  Blossom,  but  why  should 
he  have  gone?  Why  he,  with  four  children  already 
and  a  fifth  expected  ?  Everything  was  going  so  well. 
He  had  taken  a  little  shop  in  the  spring  before  the 
war  broke  out,  a  grocery  shop  in  one  of  the  poorer 
quarters  on  the  outskirts  of  the  city.  Everything 
seemed  to  prosper,  the  shop  was  never  empty.  Five 
or  ten  dollars  a  day  profit  we  made  and  were  beginning 
to  save  to  increase  our  stock.  And  he  worked  hard, 
Miss  Blossom,  so  hard  and  so  soberly.  There  was 
wine  and  brandy  and  ale  in  the  shop  but  I  swear  to 
you  that  he  never  drank  a  drop  .  .  .  and  then  ..." 

"And  then?" 

"One  evening  he  came  home  late  ...  he  had  never 
done  that  before.  Miss  Blossom.  It  was  in  August, 
just  before  the  war  began.  .  .  .  He  kissed  me  and  I 
noticed  that  he  smelled  of  whiskey  and  had  a  tri-col- 
ored  ribbon  in  his  buttonhole.  From  that  moment 
things  were  different.  He  left  his  shop  and  his  wife 
and  his  children  and  went  to  political  meetings  and  to 


30  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

the  French  club  where  he  had  not  been  since  I  knew 
him.     And  then  ..." 

"Yes,  and  then?"  prompted  Miss  Blossom  gently. 

But  the  other's  answer  was  to  break  into  bitter  sobs, 
while  the  children  gazed  at  her  with  wide-open,  miser- 
able eyes. 

Only  the  little  boy  could  contain  himself. 

"I  know,  mamma,"  he  said,  "it  was  then  that  papa 
beat  us  all,  but  it  was  your  fault " 

"Mine?" 

"Yes,  yours,  because  you  would  not  let  him  go ;  that 
is  why  he  turned  wicked  and  beat  you  and  me  and 
Louison  and  Marguerite  and  Fran^oise.  He  was  al- 
ways so  good !  And  he  was  quite  right  and  I  shall  go, 
too,  when  I  am  big  and  when  there  is  a  war.  It  is 
fine  when  they  sing  and  the  trumpets  blow  and  the 
flags  wave!  I  have  got  a  flag.  Miss  Blossom,  red, 
white  and  blue!    Papa  bought  it  for  me." 

Madame  Chapuisat  smiled  through  her  tears  and 
Miss  Blossom  said : 

"So  you,  too,  have  got  a  flag,  Gaston  ?" 

"Yes,  yes,  Miss  Blossom,  shall  I  fetch  it?"  He 
jumped  up  and  ran  into  the  cabin  to  get  the  flag  which 
his  father,  on  the  day  of  his  departure,  had  brought 
on  the  quay  in  New  York  and  left  as  a  parting  gift. 

"Men  are  all  alike!  He  is  his  father  over  again," 
sighed  the  mother. 

For  a  little  while  the  two  women  sat  silent.  The 
football  match  was  nearly  over  and  the  raucous  shouts 
of  the  excited  spectators  made  conversation  impossible. 
Gradually  the  noise  lessened  and  Madame  Chapuisat  re- 
sumed : 

"At  first  things  went  on  as  though  he  had  been 
there.  But  I  was  expecting  the  little  one  and  there 
came  a  time  when  I  could  hardly  keep  standing  in  the 
shop.     From  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning  till  eight  at 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  31 

night,  Miss  Blossom.  And  all  the  while  the  children 
ran  wild;  the  whole  day  in  the  street.  The  eternal 
anxiety.  ...  I  had  only  one  thought,  that  one  or  an- 
other would  get  under  a  cart  or  an  automobile.  But 
God  watched  over  them." 

"Had  you  no  help  in  the  shop  ?" 

"Indeed  I  had,  but  you  know  what  strangers  are! 
Sometimes  of  an  evening  the  till  was  short.  We  had 
a  young  man  named  Pillsbury,  who  came  with  excel- 
lent recommendations.  But  worse  was  to  come.  One 
night  the  till  was  broken  open  and  Pillsbury  had  bolted. 
I  ran  for  the  police.  But  on  the  way  I  was  taken  bad 
and  came  to  in  the  hospital.  The  child  was  bom,  but 
I  knew  nothing  of  it  and  lay  a  week  between  life  and 
death.  Not  for  six  weeks  would  they  let  me  out. 
Bad  luck  came  in  the  interval.  And  all  the  fault  of 
that  man  Brown." 

"Who  was  he?" 

"Our  landlord.  While  I  was  ill,  he  charged  me 
with  not  paying  rent.  I  could  not  defend  myself;  at 
first  I  had  nothing;  then  I  had  no  money  to  engage 
a  lawyer.  By  the  time  I  had  recovered  the  shop  was 
let  to  others,  all  our  stock  and  furniture  was  sold,  and 
the  children  in  the  poorhouse.  The  folks  there  were 
kind  and  promised  to  help  me,  but  when  it  came  out 
that  my  husband  was  French  and  fighting  in  Europe, 
I  was  told  that  the  French  Government  would  support 
us  and  that  we  should  be  wise  to  return  to  Toulouse, 
my  husband's  native  town." 

"And  you  decided  to  go  at  once?" 

"What  was  I  to  do,  Miss  Blossom?  I  hadn't  a 
cent  Brown  had  attacked  our  savings-account  for 
the  balance  of  his  rent.  I  told  my  story  to  the  chap- 
lain of  the  poorhouse,  and  he  was  sorry  for  me  and 
collected  enough  money  from  his  rich  friends  to  pay 
my  passage  over.    The  company  are  giving  the  chil- 


"'^ ;- -:--5 


32  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

dren  free  passages.  I  have  a  few  dollars  over.  And 
so  we  are  on  our  way  to  France  to  look  for  my  hus- 
band. Even  if  I  do  not  find  him,  I  get  an  allowance, 
so  that  we  can  live.  And  now  it  is  your  turn,  Miss 
Blossom,  to  tell  me  why  you  are  going  to  Europe !" 

The  girl  smiled. 

"Oh  that  is  a  very  simple  story,  I'm  afraid,"  she 
answered.  "I've  always  been  accustomed  to  globe- 
trotting, for  my  parents  died  when  I  was  six  and  I  am 
now  nearly  nineteen.  I  left  school  at  fourteen  and 
was  apprenticed  at  once  to  a  milliner,  who  also  taught 
me  tailoring.  Then  I  became  lady's  maid  to  a  French 
woman  and  picked  up  a  little  French.  I  was  so  happy 
with  Madame  de  Chatelanard — ^but  before  very  long — 
don't  let's  talk  about  it,  it's  too  horrid.  ..." 

"How  horrid?" 

"She  was  a  widow  with  a  grown-up  son  who  lived  in 
the  house.  .  .  .  You  understand  ?"  .  .  . 

The  other  nodded. 

"So  I  left  there,"  went  on  Miss  Blossom,  "and  took 
charge  of  some  tiny  children  in  St.  Louis  and  after 
that  I  became  sort  of  deputy  housekeeper  in  a  board- 
ing house  in  Chicago,  and  after  that  a  "young  lady" 
in  a  photographer's  at  Boston,  then  a  dentist's  assistant 
in  New  York.  ...  So  you  see  I've  been  all  over,  but 
I  never  stayed  long  in  one  place  because  men  .  .  . 
they  are  so  shameless  always  .  .  .  and  it  always  ended 
with  me  in  the  street  because  I  would  have,  nothing 
to  do  with  them.  So  then  I  made  up  my  mind  to  try 
my  luck  in  Europe  and  put  an  advertisement  in  the 
Tribune." 

"With  success,  then?" 

"Oh,  I  got  a  heap  of  replies,  but  they  were  none  of 
them  any  good.  It  was  quite  easy  to  read  between 
the  lines  the  real  purpose  of  the  proposed  arrangement. 
At  the  last  minute,  when  I  had  almost  given  up  hope 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  33 

and  was  about  to  go,  as  so  often  before,  to  an  employ- 
ment agency,  I  got  a  wonderful  offer." 

"That  sounds  almost  unbelievable  these  days." 

"To  go  to  London  to  a  large  house  in  the  West  End 
as  companion  and  "deputy";  "deputy"  was  the  word 
used  in  the  letter.  Board  and  lodging  and  £60  a  year. 
The  conditions  were  pleasant  manners,  good  appear- 
ance and  nice  clothes.  You  can  read  the  letter  for 
yourself." 

Madame  Chapuisat  shook  her  head  as  she  read, 
what  seemed  to  her,  a  somewhat  suspicious  invita- 
tion. 

"And  you  are  going  straight  off  to  England,"  she 
asked,  "with  only  this  letter  to  go  upon?" 

The  girl  seemed  for  a  moment  embarrassed.  Then 
she  replied : 

"Oh,  no,  I  came  to  terms  with  an  agent  in  New 
York,  called  Darton.  He  is  on  board  at  this  moment 
on  his  way  to  England.  I  was  to  have  my  passage 
paid  second  class,  but  when  we  got  on  board  I  found 
I  was  put  in  the  steerage.  Darton  claimed  that  I  ought 
to  pay  the  difference,  but  I  thought  I  would  as  soon 
keep  my  few  dollars  and  stay  where  I  was." 

At  this  moment  a  stout  woman  in  nurse's  costume 
stepped  forward  from  behind  the  projecting  base  of 
one  of  the  funnels.  It  was  Miss  Garrison,  but  instead 
of  the  bundle  of  lace  she  carried  a  large  parcel  in  her 
arms. 

"You  are  Madame  Chapuisat?"  she  asked  the  aston- 
ished French  woman. 

"Yes." 

"My  mistress  has  told  me  to  give  you  this  parcel." 

"I  do  not  know  your  mistress.     Who  is  she  ?" 

"That  does  not  matter.  I  have  merely  to  carry  out 
my  instructions." 

And  with  these  words,  Nurse  Garrison  handed  the 


34  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

parcel  to  Madame  Chapuisat  and  disappeared  without 
another  word. 

Full  of  excitement  the  two  women  hurried  to  the 
Chapuisat  cabin  in  order  to  open  the  parcel.  It  con- 
tained children's  underclothing,  stockings  and  shoes, 
all  of  the  best  quality  and  brand  new.  Among  the  gar- 
ments was  an  envelope  which  Madame  Chapuisat, 
thinking  to  find  a  message,  tore  open  eagerly.  But 
the  envelope  contained  no  letter,  only  bills  for  a  hun- 
dred dollars.  Poor  Madame  Chapuisat  burst  into 
tears.  Not  since  a  brutal  landlord  had  appropriated 
all  her  savings  had  she  seen  so  much  money  at  one 
time. 


CHAPTER   V 

IN  the  smoking-room  of  the  second-class  passengers 
two  rather  curious-looking  men  were  talking  over 
a  bottle  of  wine.  Outside  the  rain  streamed 
down,  the  grayness  of  the  Atlantic  losing  itself  in  the 
desolation  of  the  storm.  The  two  men  had  laid  aside 
the  dice  boxes  with  which  they  had  for  some  time 
been  amusing  themselves. 

"Another  bottle,  steward,"  called  one  of  the  two  in 
thick  and  broken  English.  No  sooner  had  the  stew- 
ard gone  to  fulfil  this  order  than  the  speaker  turned 
to  his  companion  and  spoke  rapidly  in  Dutch : 

"Let  us  get  this  matter  fair  and  square  between 
us,  Darton." 

"By  all  means,  my  dear  van  Houten,  but  I  don't  like 
your  terms." 

Van  Houten  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Then  the  business  is  off,'*  he  remarked  coolly. 

For  a  while  there  was  silence.  With  the  fingers  of 
one  hand  van  Houten  played  nervously  a  soundless 
tune  upon  the  table,  while  with  the  other  hand  he 
fidgeted  with  the  showy  gold  watch-chain  with  its 
superfluity  of  dangling  seals,  Darton  lay  back  in  his 
chair  with  an  expression  of  boredom.  He  gazed 
through  the  window  of  the  saloon  into  the  unbroken 
grayness.  Gently,  through  his  teeth,  he  whistled  a 
tune.  In  his  bright  red  tie  was  a  pin  with  a  pearl 
nearly  as  large  as  a  hazel  nut;  on  every  one  of  his 
blunt  and  rather  dirty  fingers  shone  a  jeweled  ring. 
He  was  a  nasty  looking  man,  fat,  freckled  and  with  a 
fringe  of  rusty  hair  round  his  bald  and  yellow  head. 

35 


36  THE  SHIP  OF  DEATH 

— ^^— l^iM^MIBW^.Il  mil         M^       ■  II  ■  I II  11        I  .1         — — ■^^^^^M^i— ^1^ 

He  was  clean-shaven,  like  an  American  gentleman,  but 
there  was  something  furtive,  at  once  servile  and  hector- 
ing, in  his  small  green  eyes. 

Van  Houten,  in  contrast,  was  almost  an  Adonis. 
There  was  only  one  street  in  Europe  from  which  he 
could  have  come  and  that  was  the  Jodenbreestraat  in 
Amsterdam.  His  name  had  been  van  Houten  for  only 
ten  years,  since,  in  fact,  he  had  left  Rotterdam  for  the 
United  States.  His  father's  slop-shop,  in  which  Levi 
van  Houten  had  been  born,  still  showed  the  original 
family  name  Primeiro  Benboker.  Life  is  harsh  to 
children  in  the  Jewish  quarter  of  Amsterdam,  and 
van  Houten's  eyes,  almost  lost  under  the  heavy  lids, 
told  of  misery  and  hunger  in  one  of  those  terrible  little 
alleys  behind  the  Jodenbreestraat.  The  eleventh  of  a 
family  of  seventeen  Jewish  children  he  had,  even  as  a 
small  boy,  begun  to  suffer  from  the  eye  trouble  which 
attacks  nearly  every  baby  born  in  the  Ghetto  and  from 
which  many  become  permanently  blind.  Levi  van  Hou- 
ten, like  his  fellows,  had  suffered  from  the  fine  dia- 
mond dust  with  which  the  Amsterdam  Ghetto  is  in- 
fected. At  the  age  of  thirteen,  with  a  knowledge  of 
Dutch  and  Yiddish,  his  father  sent  him  out  with  one 
of  those  hand-carts  which,  from  early  morning  till  late 
at  night,  are  to  be  seen  in  the  streets  of  Amsterdam. 
He  sold  dried  fish  and  vegetables,  fruit  and  any  other 
oddments  of  garbage  thrown  out  upon  the  city's  quays. 
Day  after  day  the  boy  toiled  through  the  streets,  re- 
turning at  night  to  the  court  in  which  his  parents  lived ; 
probably  he  would  have  spent  his  whole  life  there  had 
not  fate  taken  the  matter  out  of  his  hands.  The  op- 
portunity was  provided  by  an  outbreak  of  typhus  which 
swept  like  a  tempest  through  the  slums  of  the  Jewish 
quarter.  Young  Levi  was  struck  down  and  taken  to 
the  hospital.  There  a  Jewish  doctor  saw  signs  of 
talent  in  him  and  got  him  a  post  in  an  exporting  house 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  37 

in  Rotterdam.  By  these  people  he  was  sent,  at  the  age 
of  twenty-five,  to  America,  to  buy  cotton  in  the  south. 
He  worked  tirelessly  day  and  night,  denying  himself 
sleep  and  pleasure  in  order  to  master  the  intricacies 
of  his  business.  Whereas  at  first  he  bought  only  for 
his  employers,  he  began  gradually  to  buy  a  little  for 
himself,  then  rather  more,  and  finally  for  himself  alone. 
And  now,  as  Levi  van  Hduten,  he  had  become  one  of 
the  best  known  cotton  brokers  in  the  Southern  States. 
He  was  on  his  way  to  Holland  via  England  in  order 
to  bring  off  the  greatest  piece  of  business  in  his  life, 
a  business  only  made  possible  by  the  war.  Darton  was 
to  be  his  agent. 

The  wine  had  now  arrived  and  the  steward  was  once 
more  busy  at  his  desk  in  the  comer  of  the  room.  Van 
Houten  spoke  again  as  before,  in  a  low  tone. 

"I  think  you  forget  the  risk  that  I  shall  run  in 
Rotterdam,  Darton.  Fifteen  per  cent  is  the  utmost  I 
can  pay,  for  after  all,  you  will  be  in  no  danger  in 
England." 

"Twenty  per  cent's  my  lowest  figure,"  replied  the 
other.  "Supposing  the  English  government  takes  it 
into  his  head  to  declare  cotton  contraband?  What 
about  risks  for  me  then  ?" 

"They  won't  do  anything  of  the  kind.  You  have 
merely  to  deliver  the  stuff  to  me  in  Rotterdam.  The 
rest  is  my  responsibility.  And  for  that  little  share  I 
offer  fifteen  per  cent." 

"Very  well.  You  must  find  somebody  else  then. 
Twenty  per  cent  or  nothing." 

Van  Houten  shrugged  again. 

"In  that  case  I  shall  cut  you  out  altogether,  Dar- 
ton," he  replied  offhandedly.  "I  shall  ship  direct  to 
Rotterdam." 

The  other  smiled  an  evil  smile. 

"Excellent!    Try  it,  that's  all.     Is  it  possible  that 


■  ■  \'  ■  ■-:  -  -    c  - '^L T  ■  ^v -tC?' ''".J  i- •■* 


38  THE    SHIP    OF   DEATH 

you  have  not  read  the  last  number  of  the  Cotton 
Market?" 

Van  Houten  fidgeted  uncomfortably.  He  had 
missed  the  number  in  question  of  the  paper  mentioned 
by  Darton  and  he  knew  his  opponent  was  no  bluffer. 
But  van  Houten  was  not  a  Jew  for  nothing  and  he 
went  on  with  the  Jew's  habitual  caution. 

"As  a  matter  of  fact  I  did  miss  that  number.  But 
how  does  that  affect  the  question?" 

Darton  drew  the  paper  from  the  pocket  of  his  loud 
check  suit.  "Bottom  of  page  2.  Private  telegram 
from  New  Orleans." 

Van  Houten  peered  at  the  text  with  his  shortsighted 
eyes.  For  a  moment  he  could  not  find  the  paragraph 
he  was  seeking.  While  he  crouched  mumbling  over 
the  paper,  Darton  sat  smiling  contemptuously.  At 
last  the  Dutchman  gave  a  little  gasp  and  read 
aloud : 

"  Tt's  reported  from  a  wholly  reliable  source  that 
the  English  government  has  bought  up  the  entire  cot- 
ton harvest  of  the  southern  states.'  Damnation!  It 
cannot  be  true!" 

"Why  not?  England's  finances  are  all-powerful. 
Unless  England  wishes,  not  a  single  bale  of  cotton  can 
go  to  Rotterdam.  Well,  are  you  now  going  to  ship 
direct  from  America,  or  is  poor  old  Darton  a  little  bit 
of  use  after  all  ?     Only  twenty  per  cent  1" 

Van  Houten  gave  in. 

"You've  got  me  there.  And  now  for  details.  I 
shall  establish  a  firm  in  Rotterdam  called  'Providentia 
Limited,'  and  you  will  be  Providentia's  buyer  in  Lon- 
don." 

Darton  nodded.     Van  Houten  continued : 

"The  stuff  will  leave  for  the  continent  by  the  next 
steamer  after  it  is  purchased." 

"Against  cash  payment?" 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  39 

Van  Houten  writhed. 

"Damn  you !"  he  snarled,  "I  pay  at  six  months,  as 
you  know  quite  well." 

"In  peace  time  perhaps,  but  not  nowadays.  I  can 
get  as  many  orders  as  I  like  from  Holland  on  a  cash 
basis  in  view  of  this  notice  in  the  Cotton  Market/' 

Van  Houten  knew  that  he  was  cornered.  This  fel- 
low held  him  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand.  But  he  made 
one  more  attempt. 

"At  three  months,  then,  Darton." 

Darton  laughed  aloud. 

"Do  you  think  I'm  a  fool,  my  dear  van  Houten? 
Cotton  for  Holland  with  Cologne  as  ultimate  destina- 
tion is  worth  its  weight  in  gold.  The  Germans  will 
come  running  for  it,  out  of  sheer  patriotism.  They 
want  your  cotton  for  explosives.  There's  the 
rub.  ..." 

"The  Germans  are  an  ingenious  people.  ..." 

"All  right.  Wait  for  their  genius  to  find  some  way 
of  turning  German  straw  into  American  cotton.  I 
understand  they've  discovered  some  way  of  making 
butter  out  of  sewage.  Only  for  God's  sake  don't  bore 
me  with  business  any  more.  Let's  have  another 
game." 

But  van  Houten  did  not  respond.  His  mind  was 
full  of  the  millions  ready  to  the  hand  of  Providentia 
Limited  and  Darton's  chatter  of  dice  and  drink  barely 
penetrated  his  consciousness.  He  sat  and  added  and 
multiplied  and  added  again.  On  a  million  gulden 
turn-over  the  fellow  would  earn  two  hundred  thousand, 
and  earn  it  without  the  least  risk,  by  a  mere  lifting 
his  hand,  so  to  speak.  Two  hundred  thousand  of  what 
rightfully  belonged  to  Providentia !  Merely,  as  it  were, 
for  readdressing  a  letter.  Darton  was  not  buying 
the  stuff.  But  there  must  be  somebody  in  London, 
otherwise  there  could  be  no  cotton.    Instinct  said  that 


■[^''^WT^^v^v  ^ 


40  THE    SHIP    OF   DEATH 

the  news  in  the  Cotton  Market  was  true.  With  a  bit- 
ter effort  he  resigned  himself. 

"Done  with  you,  Darton !" 

The  other  responded  warmly:  "Cash  payment  and 
twenty  per  cent  commission.  I'm  your  man.  Shake 
hands!" 

They  filled  their  glasses  and  drank. 

"To  the  first  million !" 

"Here's  to  the  war !" 

And  indeed  the  war  had  brought  a  business  such  as 
neither  could  have  dreamed  of. 

The  two  men  plunged  into  an  animated  discussion 
of  details.  The  second  bottle  of  wine  rapidly  emptied. 
Darton  rose  to  ring  for  the  steward,  who  had  left  the 
room,  to  order  whiskeys  and  sodas.  But  at  this  mo- 
ment the  steward  came  in  again  and,  walking  up  to 
the  table  at  which  the  two  men  sat,  asked : 

*You  are  Mr.  Lewis  Darton,  are  you  not,  sir  ?" 

'Certainly  I  am." 

There  was  a  touch  of  insolence  in  the  reply,  such 
as  might  be  expected  from  a  man  who  has  more  than 
once  been  questioned  as  to  his  personality  and  seeks 
to  make  up  by  assurance  for  some  fundamental  un- 
easiness.    The  steward  spoke  again : 

"If  you  are  Mr.  Darton  I  have  been  instructed  to 
give  you  this  letter.     There  is  no  answer." 

Darton  took  the  letter  and  examined  the  dainty  little 
envelope  addressed  in  a  distinguished  and  feminine 
hand.  A  faint  scent  of  heliotrope  suggested  that  the 
note  paper  had  lain  near  a  sachet  or  near  some  highly- 
scented  soap.  Darton  did  not  fail  to  notice  these  char- 
acteristics. A  self-satisfied  smile  crept  over  his  lips. 
From  a  woman,  of  course.     He  turned  to  van  Houten. 

"An  assignation,  I  think,  as  is  proper  on  a  steamer!" 

Van  Houten's  answer  was  a  slightly  contemptuous 
smile.     Darton  opened  the  letter  and  read : 


-     THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  41 

Beak  Sir, 

I  address  you  thus  out  of  respect  to  the  lying  convention  of 
polite  society,  and  for  that  reason  only.  I  am  given  to  under- 
stand that  you  are  engaged  on  a  piece  of  very  revolting  business. 
Whatever  may  be  your  intentions  with  regard  to  Miss  Blossom, 
be  good  enough  to  abandon  them.  You  may.  be  appearing  before 
the  throne  of  God  sooner  than  you  expect.  From  one  whose 
care  is  salvation. 

Darton  laughed  aloud. 

"Good  Lord!"  he  cried.  "Read  this,  van  Houten. 
There  must  be  a  lunatic  on  board !" 

With  considerable  difficulty  van  Houten  deciphered 
the  letter.     But  he  did  not  join  the  other's  merriment. 

"Who  is  this  Miss  Blossom  ?"  he  asked.  "And  what 
have  you  to  do  with  her?" 

"She  is  the  delusion  of  a  lunatic.  I  know  of  no 
such  person." 

There  was  a  note  of  doubt  in  van  Houten's  next  re- 
mark: 

"You  know  of  no  such  person  ?  .  .  .  You  have  not 
gone  back  to  that  old  business  of  yours  ?" 

Darton  laughed  again. 

"My  good  man,  can't  you  see  that  the  letter  is 
palpably  written  by  one  who  is  crazy?" 

Van  Houten's  continued  incredulity  put  Darton  in 
a  fury.     He  turned  to  the  steward : 

"I  insist  on  knowing  who  gave  you  this  letter.  I 
shall  go  and  complain  to  the  captain.  Whoever  wrote 
it  ought  to  be  reported  to  the  ship's  doctor!" 

The  steward  replied  quietly : 

"You  will  have  to  ask  the  stewardess  Watson  in 
the  first  class,  sir.  I  received  the  letter  from  her." 
And  he  walked  away  without  more  ado. 

Darton  was  now  striding  up  and  down  the  smoking- 
room,  still  laughing,  gesticulating  with  his  hands. 

"Crazy,  crazy,  crazy  .  .  ."he  repeated  ceaselessly. 

Van  Houten  sat  silent.     Apparently  lost  in  thought 


-  ,;■' '  v;vi^mfff^^m::^:S'^ 


42  THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH 

■■     '     "      — ^^^^^^^-^^l^l  ■■  ■■  I  - Ml     ■    111    IMIIM..  I         I.     I  .III  ■■—        ■■■—  ■  I  III  I    ■■!       I    I    W 

he  gazed  before  him  with  unseeing  eyes.  Suddenly 
he  asked: 

"What  was  the  last  sentence  in  the  letter?  Some- 
thing about  appearing  before  the  throne  of  God  before 
you  expected.  I  know  what  that  means.  It  means 
we  are  carrying  munitions  and  that  the  Gigantic  will 
be  sunk." 

Darton  growled,  angrily.  "Don't  talk  rot!  The 
woman's  crazy." 

But  van  Houten  seemed  already  to  feel  creeping 
over  his  body  the  icy  water  of  the  Atlantic 


CHAPTER   VI 

AMONG  the  smart  first-class  passengers  was  a 
striking  and  unusual  figure.  In  New  York 
he  had  found  it  difficult  to  even  get  on  board 
at  all.  The  official  who  was  examining  the  tickets 
summed  him  up  as  some  poor  harmless  lunatic,  tired 
of  life  in  common-sense  America  and  seeking  relief  in 
one  of  the  older  countries  of  Europe,  who  had,  by  some 
means  or  other,  collected  money  for  a  steerage  passage. 
Picture  his  astonishment,  therefore,  when  this  curious 
being  produced  a  first-class  ticket.  Nothing  could  be 
done.  The  man  had  obviously  paid  and  had  as  much 
right  as  anybody  else  to  travel.  The  official  thought 
he  must  be  a  crank,  for  there  are  many  of  one  sort  or 
another  in  America.  After  all,  it  was  not  his  business 
how  the  man  dressed,  and  provided  he  made  no  dis- 
turbance and  left  other  people  alone  he  was  no  concern 
of  the  steamship  authorities.  Although  barely  thirty 
years  of  age  he  looked  like  a  figure  risen  from  some 
vanished  century.  He  wore  a  cowled  monkish  robe 
tied  with  a  hempen  rope ;  on  his  naked  feet  were  san- 
dals and  his  hair  and  beard  were  fair  and  unshorn. 
He  spoke  to  no  one.  The  costly  dishes  served  at 
table  barely  attracted  his  notice.  He  only  ate  to  any 
extent  of  the  fruit  which  came  with  the  dessert.  No 
coffee,  tea  or  wine  passed  his  lips.  When  the  weather 
was  fine  he  would  walk  for  hours  up  and  down  the 
detk,  reading  incessantly  in  the  New  Testament  which 
was  never  seen  out  of  his  hands. 

His  cheerful  fellow-travelers  nicknamed  him,  among 
themselves,  John  the  Baptist.    But  in  three  days  every- 

43 


p;>.- 


44  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

one  was  used  to  him  and  paid  him  no  more  attention. 
It  was  in  truth  a  strange  contrast.  On  the  one  hand, 
luxury,  fine  clothes,  jewels,  light  love-making,  music 
and  dancing;  on  the  other,  the  wasted  face  of  the 
stranger,  his  sad  smile  and  the  far-away  look  in  his 
great  brown  eyes  which  seemed  to  give  utterance  to 
all  the  sorrows  of  the  world.  Like  a  messenger  from 
some  other  sphere  he  walked  the  decks  of  the  Gigantic 
among  the  crowd  of  laughing  and  thoughtless  human 
beings.  One  evening  shortly  after  dinner.  Lord 
Arthur  Roade  fell  by  chance  into  conversation  with 
the  Baptist.  The  Englishman  was  anxious  at  the  curi- 
ous change  which  had  come  over  his  wife  since  the 
Gigantic  had  left  New  York.  She  was  no  longer  the 
cheerful  girl  of  the  Long  Island  home,  but  shut  herself 
in  her  cabin  and  refused  to  mix  with  the  crowd  in  the 
dining  saloon  or  the  drawing-room,  although  many  of 
the  folk  on  board  were  acquaintances  and  even  friends, 
Hour  after  hour  she  would  sit  at  the  table  of  her 
private  cabin,  writing  in  a  little  note-book  which,  care- 
fully enclosed  in  a  small  waterproof  case,  she  carried 
with  her  wherever  she  went.  In  vain  had  Lord  Arthur 
attempted  to  solve  the  secret  of  this  book.  His  hints 
and  even  his  frank  questions  she  had  met  with  an  ab- 
sent-minded, but  none  the  less  firm  refusal,  given  as 
though  her  mind  were  far  away.  And  then  there  came 
a  day  when  he  made  a  disquieting  discovery.  Enter- 
ing her  cabin  he  saw,  hanging  over  her  bed,  a  crucifix. 
Where  it  had  come  from  he  could  not  think.  Had  she 
brought  it  secretly  with  her  from  New  York?  It 
seemed  incredible,  for  among  her  friends  Withcomb's 
daughter  had  always  passed  as  more  or  less  of  a  free 
thinker.  The  affair  was  all  the  stranger  because 
Nurse  Garrison  told  him  that  Lady  Mabel,  on  her 
knees  before  this  crucifix,  would  pray  passionately  for 
her  child,  the  tears  standing  in  her  eyes. 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  45 

The  ship's  doctor,  on  beings  consulted,  sought  to 
soothe  the  anxious  husband.  Women,  especially  wom- 
en from  wealthy  and  pleasure-loving  circles,  often  suf- 
fered such  nerve  crises  after  giving  birth  to  a  child. 
Doubtless  natural  maternal  anxiety  had  been  intensi- 
fied by  the  receipt  of  the  anonymous  letter  before  the 
sailing  of  the  boat.  With  such  platitudes  Lord  Arthur 
had  perforce  to  be  content,  but  he  determined,  when 
they  reached  London,  to  consult  a  specialist. 

Strange  it  was  that  in  this  anxiety  he  felt  himself 
drawn  more  and  more  strongly  toward  the  Baptist. 
The  two  seemed  to  meet  at  every  moment  of  the  day. 
Lord  Arthur  felt  himself  getting  nervous  and  irritable. 
The  man  was  an  obsession.  Was  he  a  ghost?  Or 
was  it  all  unreal  ?  Was  this  not  the  Gigantic  crowded 
with  people?  Was  there  no  war?  Was  he  himself 
perhaps  not  Lord  Arthur  Roade,  late  attache  at 
Washington,  now  on  his  way  to  the  Foreign  Office 
in  London?  He  tried  to  laugh  the  matter  off, 
but  every  moment  the  lure;  of  the  Baptist  proved 
stronger. 

The  sea  was  slightly  rough,  but  the  Baptist  as  usual 
strode  up  and  down  the  promenade  deck,  reading  his 
New  Testament,  talking  softly  to  himself.  With 
evening  the  sky  had  cleared  and  now  that  the  sun  had 
set,  a  silver  twilight  lay  over  the  Atlantic.  From  the 
saloons  and  cabins  of  the  ship  the  electric  lights 
streamed  out  into  the  gathering  dusk.  The  ship  gave 
a  slight  lurch.  The  Baptist  reeled  a  moment  and  the 
book  fell  from  his  hand.  Lord  Arthur  stooped  and 
picked  it  up. 

"Thank  you,"  said  the  Baptist,  taking  the  book  once 
more. 

"What  are  you  reading?'* 

"The  Apocalypse.  In  these  days,  it  should  be  read 
by  everybody." 


46  THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH 

Lord  Arthur  stared  in  astonishment,  while  an  un- 
earthly smile  lit  up  the  features  of  the  speaker. 

"I  have  never  read  the  Apocalypse,"  said  Lord 
Arthur  at  last. 

"Now  above  all  others  is  the  time,"  replied  the  other 
solemnly,  "but  I  am  boring  you  ..." 

The  Baptist  turned  to  go.  One  little  word  from 
Lord  Arthur  and  the  conversation  between  them  would 
never  have  taken  place.  But  that  word  was  not  spoken. 
The  Baptist,  reading  the  other's  look,  checked  himself 
and  asked: 

"You  are  Lord  Arthur  Roade  ?  Everyone  on  board 
knows  you,  points  you  out  as  the  chief  personality  on 
the  ship,  but  despite  that  you  have  never  read  the 
Apocalypse." 

"Let  us  go  inside,"  said  Lord  Arthur  gently.  "It 
is  getting  rather  cold." 

"First  let  me  introduce  myself,"  replied  the  Baptist, 
"my  name  is  de  Chatelanard,  and  I  am  the  leader  of 
the  Christian  Scientists  of  Philadelphia." 

"You  are  a  Frenchman,  then,  and  on  your  way  to 
fight  for  France?" 

"My  name  sounds  French,  I  know,  but  I  am  an 
American.  I  come  from  St.  Louis;  my  mother  still 
lives  there.  My  father  has  been  dead  for  many  years. 
As  to  why  I  am  traveling,  it  is  said  in  the  Apocalypse : 
*He  that  killeth  with  the  sword  must  be  killed  with 
the  sword.'  God  forbade  me  to  fight  in  this  war, 
wherefore  I  should  not  be  now  going  to  fight,  even  if 
I  were  as  French  in  nationality  as  I  am  in  name." 

The  two  men  were  now  in  one  of  the  saloons,  which 
happened  to  be  empty.  They  took  their  seats  on  a 
sofa  that  ran  along  one  of  the  sides. 

May  I  offer  you  something?"  asked  Lord  Arthur. 
Nothing,  thank  you." 
Not  even  a  cigar?" 


"] 
"1 


THE    SHIP    OF   DEATH  47 

"Not  even  a  cigar." 

"You  are  an  ascetic  then  ?" 

"For  three  years." 

"Why  for  three  years  ?" 

"To  be  more  exact,  it  will  be  three  years  on  June 
the  twenty-fourth.  Until  the  twenty-fourth  of  June, 
nineteen  hundred  and  twelve,  I  lived  like  any  other 
member  of  that  American  society  for  which  money 
and  the  value  of  money  have  no  meaning." 

"On  that  date,  then  you  felt  some  divine  call  ?" 

"No,"  replied  the  other,  "but  I  became  conscious  of 
my  sins,  and  that  was  the  first  step." 

"If  it  is  not  an  intrusion  to  ask  .  .  .  ?" 

"If  you  are  interested,  I  will  gladly  tell  you.  Like 
other  rich  young  men  I  lived  a  riotous  life  in  St.  Louis. 
I  was  brought  up  by  my  mother  and  mothers  are  often 
indulgent.  Wine,  women  and  gambling  were  the  main 
interests  of  my  life  and  no  flower  bloomed  except  for 
me  to  pluck.  When  I  was  only  twenty  years  old  I 
had  a  great  experience.  My  mother  took  a  young  g^rl 
into  her  house  who  was  anxious  to  perfect  herself  in 
French " 

"Oh,  I  see,  the  old  story — z  woman !" 

"I  took  her  to  be  a  woman,  Lord  Arthur,  and  I 
treated  her  as  such.  But  I  was  wrong,  for  the  first 
time  in  my  life  I  was  wrong.     She  was  a  saint." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"She  was  the  most  beautiful  girl  I  have  ever  seen 
in  my  life,  the  most  beautiful  you  can  imagine !" 

"So  that's  where  the  saintliness  lay?" 

The  Baptist  ignored  the  interruption  and  went 
on: 

"Even  her  name  was  unusual.  She  was  simply 
called  Blossom ;  in  name  as  well  as  in  soul,  she  was  a 
flower." 

"The  name  is  not  so  rare  as  all  that!" 


48  THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH 

"Perhaps  you  are  right.  I  only  know  that  I  was 
fascinated  by  the  name  and  regarded  it  as  a  sort  of 
symbol.  But  despite  all  that  ..."  He  paused,  but 
pulled  himself  together,  "I  treated  the  saint  as  I  had 
been  accustomed  to  treat  others  of  her  sex.  Then  did 
she  rise  and  depart  from  me  and  left  my  mother's 
house." 

Lord  Arthur  found  it  difficult  to  maintain  a  becom- 
ing gravity.  It  was  so  obvious  that  the  poor  fellow 
was  a  lunatic. 

"And  what  happened  then?  I  suppose  you  went 
on  to  search  for  another  saint?" 

"That  was  my  intention,  Lord  Arthur,  and  I  laughed 
when  she  left  us ;  I  felt  sure  that  I  should  find  conso- 
lation elsewhere.  But  I  was  not  in  a  condition  to  do 
anything  of  the  kind." 

"How  do  you  mean  *not  in  a  condition  ?' " 

"On  the  following  morning  I  was  unable  to  rise 
from  my  bed,  for  God  had  laid  His  hand  heavily  upon 


me. 


"You  were  ill,  then?" 

"I  lay  for  six  weeks  in  a  raging  fever  and  from 
those  weeks  of  illness  I  emerged  as  I  am  to-day.  I 
vowed  to  leave  St.  Louis  and  become  a  Christian  Scien- 
tist, for  which  purpose  I  went  to  Philadelphia.  There, 
among  fellow  believers,  I  came  to  an  understanding  of 
the  strength  which  removes  mountains." 

"The  strength?" 

"The  strength  of  prayer.  Lord  Arthur,  or,  more 
simply,  the  strength  of  the  human  will.  The  secret  of 
the  world  is  that  the  man  whose  will  is  strongest  can 
compel  others  weaker  than  he.  Wherefore  I  sought 
by  prayer  and  fasting  to  attain  to  this  will,  knowing 
that  by  this  means  the  sufferings  of  the  world  and 
with  them  the  war  would  come  to  an  end." 

"The  war,  too?" 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  49 

^——^^^■^^  I      '■'"■'■  IIH      !■■      ■■■■     ■     i     '  '  '  - I....-1    ■.■'■    ■-■■■■  11  i      ..        ■■■— !■-  .  I      .11       ,!■■     I.       -    .1—    ■  I.J.I  ■ 

"Certainly,  Lord  Arthur.  But  the  victory  of  the 
Lamb  shall  not  be  fulfilled  until  the  days  of  the  Beast 
are  ended.  John,  the  author  of  Revelations,  has 
prophesied  this  war.  If  you  read  the  thirteenth  chap- 
ter of  that  book  you  will  understand  whom  he  means 
by  the  Beast.  .  .  .  But  all  this  is  for  the  moment  beside 
the  point.  ...  As  I  was  saying,  I  set  myself  armed 
with  the  power  of  will,  to  carry  out  a  definite  mission. 
I  saw  that  it  was  my  duty  to  find  once  more  the  girl 
whom  my  sins  had  driven  from  my  mother's  house. 
Wherefore  I  wander  without  rest  or  quietness  over  the 
face  of  the  earth,  seeking  this  Miss  Blossom  that  I 
may  make  good  to  her  the  harm  that  I  did  her.  I 
have  known  devout  people  in  Philadelphia  who  can 
call  the  dead  from  their  graves  and  question  them  as 
did  Samuel  for  Saul  in  the  cave  of  Endor." 

Lord  Arthur  could  no  longer  repress  a  slight  smile. 
The  Baptist  noticed  this  at  once,  guessed  that  the 
Englishman  considered  him  mad,  and  said  calmly: 

"It  is  natural  enough  that  you  should  take  me  for  a 
lunatic,  for  is  not  the  loss  of  all  metaphysical  sense  the 
fundamental  disease  of  this  terrible  time  ?  Such  days 
as  these  are  only  credible  if  it  be  admitted  that  faith 
is  dead.  The  vast  majority  of  human  beings  are  still 
at  the  stage  of  development  at  which  I  stood  before 
my  illness,  before  I  went  to  Philadelphia.  Perhaps 
you  do  not  believe  in  the  miracle?" 

"What  miracle?"  asked  Lord  Arthur. 

"The  miracle  of  the  Revelation,  which  is  certainly 
at  hand  and  with  which  this  war  is  to  end." 

"So  you  conceive  that  the  end  will  be  a  miracle  ?" 

"Not  a  miracle.  Lord  Arthur,  but  the  miracle,  the 
miracle  of  trans-substantiation.  The  war  will  end 
with  the  coming  of  the  Lamb  and  with  the  final  down- 
fall of  the  Beast.  .  .  .  There  are,  in  these  days  few 
who  are  chosen — few  to  whom  the  truth  is  revealed — 


'  ■;;««■ 


50  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

but  the  hour  is  coming,  the  hour  of  that  little  hill  in 
Galilee,  of  which  the  Gospel  speaks." 

The  Baptist  rose  and  began  striding  up  and  down 
the  gorgeously  decorated  room. 

"The  hour  of  the  little  hill  in  Galilee  .  .  ."he  re- 
peated. 

Lord  Arthur  shuddered,  and  in  that  moment  the  face 
of  his  wife  rose  before  his  eyes.  He  bade  the  Baptist 
a  brief  farewell  and  left  the  room  with  his  mind  made 
up  to  prevent,  by  every  means  in  his  power,  any  meeting 
between  Lady  Mabel  and  this  unearthly  being. 


CHAPTER  VII 

PITT  was  ill.  Delirious  with  fever  he  lay  in  one 
of  the  cabins  near  the  crew's  mess-room,  set 
aside  for  such  eventualities.  At  first  his  actual 
complaint  had  defied  diagnosis.  A  day  or  two  before 
he  had  complained  of  great  pain  in  the  right  groin. 
The  doctor  had  examined  him  but  had  found  it  im- 
possible to  say  what  was  definitely  amiss.  From  hour 
to  hour  the  little  boy  grew  worse  until  it  was  quite 
evident  to  the  doctor  that  the  child  was  suffering 
from  appendicitis.  What  was  to  be  done  ?  The  ship's 
doctor  was  no  surgeon;  even  if  he  were,  how  could 
a  ticklish  abdominal  operation  be  carried  out  amid 
the  vibrations  of  the  Giganticf  The  boy  was  left  to 
the  mercy  of  heaven.  As  he  stood  by  the  bedside,  tak- 
ing Pitt's  temperature  and  feeling  his  pulse.  Doctor 
Kallaway  shook  his  head  gravely. 

"Very  bad,"  he  muttered  to  the  nurse-stewardess  in 
charge.  "I  don't  like  this  temperature.  Every  quar- 
ter of  an  hour  force  a  little  piece  of  ice  between  his 
lips.  Do  you  understand?  And  every  half  hour  re- 
new the  ice  packing  round  his  body.  I  shall  be  back 
in  two  or  three  hours." 

As  he  turned  to  go,  the  doctor's  eye  fell  on  the  little 
table  standing  near  the  bed.  On  the  table  were  a  plate 
of  strawberries,  a  bottle  of  wine,  cakes,  oranges,  a  slice 
of  pineapple. 

"What's  all  this  litter?"  he  asked  sharply.  "Clear 
all  that  stuff  away.  What's  the  good  of  that  kind  of 
thing  when  the  lad  can't  touch  a  morsel  of  anything 
whatever?" 

5<  UBRARV 


^^m  Of  M""'!^ 


52  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

"Nurse  Garrison  brought  them  all  in/*  replied  the 
stewardess. 

"Who  is  she?"  , 

"Lady  Mabel  Roade's  nurse."  / 

The  mention  of  Lady  Mabel  smoothed  the  doctor's 
face  into  contentment  with  comical  rapidity. 
"Indeed!"  he  remarked.     "Very  interesting!" 
"Lady  Mabel  Roade  had  heard  of  Pitt's  illness  and 
sent  Nurse  Garrison  to  say  that  he  must  lack  for  noth- 
ing and  that  she  would  be  responsible  for  all  expenses." 
"She  has  a  heart  of  gold!"  murmured  the  doctor. 
"Let  us  hope,  stewardess,  that  we  can  pull  the  little 
fellow  through  sufficiently  for  him  to  profit  by  Lady 
Roade's  generosity." 

With  these  words  he  left  the  cabin.  The  stewardess 
moved  the  little  table  away  from  the  bedside,  but  as 
she  did  so  the  boy  tried  to  raise  himself  in  bed. 

"You  mustn't  move,  Pitt,"  whispered  the  stewardess, 
leaning  over  him.     "Let  me  give  you  a  little  piece  of 


ice." 


The  lad  sank  back  without  understanding,  possibly 
without  even  hearing,  what  she  said. 

"I  shall  be  back  in  a  moment,  Pitt.  I  must  just  run 
and  get  a  bite  of  supper.  So  lie  quite  still  like  a  good 
boy." 

And  she  slipped  away. 

Even  in  the  distant  world  to  which  his  fever  had 
carried  him,  Pitt  felt  the  relief  of  the  ice-bandage 
round  his  body.  The  pain  grew  less  and  the  tempera- 
ture, although  it  stayed  obstinately  high,  did  not  rise. 
The  boy  lay  motionless.  On  the  wall  behind  his  bed 
the  green-shaded  electric  lamp  shone  dimly.  Shadows 
crouched  in  every  comer  of  the  cabin,  grotesque,  mock- 
ing shadows  cast  by  the  bed  and  the  other  objects  in 
the  room.  On  the  wings  of  the  fever  Pitt's  imagina- 
tion flew  far  away.     He  was  back  once  more  in  his 


THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH  53' 

home  in  Jersey  City  among  the  squalor  and  quarreling 
and  blows.  He  was  in  England,  in  his  uncle's  work- 
shop, earning  money  for  his  mother  and  sisters,  so  that 
they  might  start  a  new  life.  He  was  before  the  altar 
of  St.  James's,  gazing  at  the  golden-haired  angels  and 
promising  to  be  a  good  boy  and  never  touch  wine  or 
spirits.  Very  gradually  the  fever  visions  thinned  and 
faded  and  he  became  distantly  aware  of  the  murmur 
of  the  waves,  of  the  sullen  thunder  of  the  vessel's  en- 
gines. 

He  had  been  alone  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  when 
the  door  of  the  cabin  opened  softly.  Silhouetted 
against  the  brilliant  light  that  streamed  in  from  the 
corridor,  stood  the  Baptist.  He  was  bareheaded  and 
the  light  spun  into  fine  gold  the  edges  of  his  hair  and 
beard. 

The  boy  stared  as  though  at  an  apparition  from 
another  world.  He  struggled  to  raise  himself.  A 
cool,  soft  hand,  like  the  hand  of  a  woman,  was  laid  on 
his  burning  forehead  and  he  felt  himself  forced,  by 
will  rather  than  by  physical  strength,  back  once  again 
on  to  the  pillow. 

"You  must  lie  still,  Pitt,"  said  the  Baptist  gently. 

'Who  are  you?    Your  hand  makes  me  feel  better." 

'Who  I  am  is  of  no  matter.  As  for  my  hand,  it  is 
a  hand  of  healing." 

And  the  boy  smiled. 

The  Baptist  sat  down  on  a  stool  by  the  side  of  the 
bed,  his  hand  still  resting  on  the  child's  forehead. 

"Do  you  feel  better,  Pitt?" 

"Much  better." 

For  a  long  while  complete  silence  reigned.  The  only 
sound  was  the  muffled  ticking  of  Pitt's  watch  from  a 
box  which  stood  upon  the  table.  At  last  the  Baptist 
spoke  again : 

'Are  you  afraid  of  death,  Pitt?" 


"1 


tt 


54  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

The  boy  stared  at  the  strange  figure  and  seemed  to 
absorb  every  detail  of  his  appearance.  At  last,  as 
though  fascinated  by  the  eyes  of  the  Baptist,  he  whis- 
pered : 

"No,  sir,  I  am  not  afraid  of  death." 

"You  are  right,  Pitt:  'He  that  believeth  in  me, 
though  he  were  dead,  yet  shall  he  live ;  and  whosoever 
liveth  and  believeth  in  me  shall  never  die.'  "  The  boy's 
eyes  lit  up.  Some  recollection  of  past  visits  to  St. 
James's  flickered  across  his  mind. 

"Do  you  know,  sir,  whether  it  is  true?'* 

"Whether  what  is  true,  Pitt?" 

"That  we  shall  all  be  lost." 

"Why?" 

"Because  there  are  munitions  on  board." 

After  looking  earnestly  at  the  boy  for  a  moment 
or  two  the  Baptist  answered  gently : 

"I  do  not  know,  Pitt,  but  it  does  not  matter.  Are 
not  two  sparrows  sold  for  a  farthing?  And  one 
of  them  shall  not  fall  to  the  ground  without  your 
Father  in  heaven.  But  the  very  hairs  of  your  head 
are  all  numbered.  Fear  ye  not,  therefore,  ye  are  of 
more  value  than  many  sparrows." 

"I  understand,"  replied  the  boy,  and  in  his  voice  was 
a  great  weariness. 

"I  shall  give  you  another  little  piece  of  ice,  Pitt," 
said  the  Baptist,  "and  then  you  will  go  to  sleep." 

"I  have  not  slept  for  days." 

"But  now  you  will  go  to  sleep." 

As  he  rose  and  walked  to  the  table  upon  which  the 
ice  was  standing  he  looked,  in  the  dim  green  light, 
fantastic  and  unreal. 

"Can  you  walk,  sir,"  asked  Pitt,  still  in  the  grip  of 
the  fever,  "like  He  did  on  the  sea  ?" 

"If  we  have  faith,  Pitt,  you  or  I  or  anyone  can  walk 
as  He  did." 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  55 

As  the  Baptist  thrust  the  little  piece  of  ice  between 
the  boy's  lips  he  asked : 

"You  are  no  longer  afraid  ?" 

"No,  sir." 

"Then  sleep." 

The  cooling  hand  lay  once  more  on  Pitt's  forehead ; 
the  minutes  passed;  the  watch  ticked;  the  Atlantic 
murmured ;  the  engine  throbbed ;  and  the  Baptist  stood 
by  the  sick  child's  bed  with  his  right  hand  on  the 
fevered  forehead.  In  his  left  he  held  the  Testament 
and  read  endlessly  on,  his  lips  moving  silently  as 
though  he  were  sending  some  magical  stream  of  com- 
fort over  the  sufferer.  It  was  the  thirteenth  chapter  of 
St.  Matthew  that  he  was  reading: 

"He  that  soweth  the  good  seed  is  the  Son  of 
man;  the  field  is  the  world;  the  good  seed  are 
the  children  of  the  kingdom;  but  the  tares  are  the 
children  of  the  wicked  one ;  the  enemy  that  sowed 
them  is  the  devil;  the  harvest  is  the  end  of  the 
world ;  and  the  reapers  are  the  angels.  As  there- 
fore the  tares  are  gathered  and  burned  in  the  fire, 
so  shall  it  be  in  the  end  of  this  world.  The  Son 
of  man  shall  send  forth  his  angels,  and  they  shall 
gather  out  of  the  kingdom  all  things  that  offend, 
and  them  which  do  iniquity;  and  shall  cast  them 
into  a  furnace  of  fire;  there  shall  be  wailing  and 
gnashing  of  teeth.  Then  shall  the  righteous  shine 
forth  as  the  sun  in  the  kingdom  of  their  Father. 
Who  hath  ears  to  hear,  let  him  hear." 

At  last  the  Baptist  withdrew  his  hand,  for  the  boy 
was  asleep.  The  breath  came  quietly  and  with  regu- 
larity. After  bending  once  over  the  bed  and  smiling 
his  strange,  unearthly  smile,  the  visitor  glided  silently 
from  the  room. 


S6  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

When,  a  few  minutes  later,  the  stewardess  returned, 
she  stood  in  delighted  amazement  by  the  bed,  gazing 
at  the  sleeping  boy,  on  whose  foreheaa  were  pearls  of 
sweat,  and  whose  breath  came  with  quiet  regularity. 
She  sat  on  the  stool  in  the  corner  of  the  cabin  and 
waited.  As  she  sat,  the  menacing  rumors  that  had 
hung  over  this  voyage  crowded  into  her  mind.  She 
had  heard  of  the  anonymous  letters,  she  knew  of  the 
gossip  that  the  ship  was  carrying  munitions.  And  yet, 
in  the  midst  of  this  lurking  horror,  sleep,  like  an  angel 
of  peace,  had  visited  this  sick  room.  .  .  .  "Where- 
fore abide  these  three,  Faith,  Hope  and  Charity,  for 
the  greatest  of  these  is  Charity."  .  .  .  Why  did  these 
words  run  in  her  head,  here  in  this  cabin  by  the  side 
of  the  sick  child?  Rising  and  looking  down  on  the 
boy's  peaceful  face,  she  felt  the  cloud  of  uneasiness 
lift  from  her  mind.  Once  safely  in  England  she  would 
see  her  children  and  her  husband,  and  the  Gigantic 
was  not  far  from  England  now. 

"Father  into  Thy  hands  ..."  she  breathed. 

At  this  moment  the  doctor  entered  the  cabin.  The 
shade  was  removed  from  the  light  and  the  two  looked 
at  the  sleeping  boy. 

"Sleep!"  whispered  the  doctor.  "Sleep  and  per- 
spiration! It  is  amazing!  It  is  little  short  of  a  mir- 
acle. Perhaps  to-morrow  he  may  be  able  to  eat  some- 
thing. ..." 

And  the  doctor  vanished. 

"Little  short  of  a  miracle !"  repeated  the  stewardess, 
as  she  sat  down  to  wait  for  the  colleague  who  was  to 
relieve  her. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

IT  was  Captain  Hastings's  habit,  so  far  as  he  could 
manage  it,  to  visit  and  inspect  personally  every 
day  the  various  departments  of  the  huge  ship  over 
which  he  ruled.  He  was  a  typically  trim  English 
sailor,  whose  jovial  character  was  not  belied  by  the 
short  pipe  always  between  his  teeth.  Through  be- 
tween forty  and  fifty  years  old,  his  short  and  thickly- 
set  frame  was  muscular  and  young,  thanks  to  the  sea 
air  and  his  love  of  sport  when  on  shore.  He  was 
universally  beloved  by  his  subordinates,  by  the  direc- 
tors of  the  company  and  by  those  first-class  passengers 
who  were  fortunate  enough  to  make  his  acquaintance 
during  ^he  Gigantic's  voyages.  He  had  earned  the 
important  command  of  the  Gigantic,  thanks  to  his 
coolness  and  skill  in  saving  the  Victorious  from  ship- 
wreck off  the  coast  of  Canada  some  years  before.  No 
one  on  board,  passenger  or  sailor,  had  suffered  more 
than  a  slight  scare  and  not  a  case  of  the  cargo  had 
been  lost.  It  had  also  happened  (and  this  was  the 
second  recommendation)  that  Hastings  was  on  board 
the  ill-fated  Titanic,  though  in  the  capacity  of  an  ordi- 
nary passenger.  In  that  terrible  disaster  he  had  been 
prominent  in  organizing  the  work  of  rescue  and  such 
few  as  escaped  undoubtedly  owed  their  lives  to  his 
efforts. 

And  so  to  him  was  entrusted  the  onerous  and  re- 
sponsible task  of  commanding  the  Gigantic  during  the 
dangers  of  war-time.  On  this  particular  morning  his 
daily  round  led  hirrt  first  to  the  kitchen  where  the 
steerage  dinner  was  being  prepared.     He  insisted  on 

57 


58  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

— ^— *^— ^M^^B^W^M^M— ^W— ^—  I  1^— l.^.  .1.1     ^1    MMM    I    ■       I  I     ■      ■»,     I  I  .      ,,  ,1    111!       ■Mil    .1    ^— ^— ^B^^— — — ^^^ 

tasting  the  stew  upon  which  the  negro  cook  Elias  was 
engaged,  pronounced  it  unbearably  tough  and  gave  the 
officer  who  had  charge  of  the  purchase  and  arranging 
of  the  meals  for  the  various  classes  on  board  a  severe 
reprimand.  The  captain  next  found  fault  with  the 
condition  of  the  floor  and  with  the  polishing  of  some 
of  the  brasswork.  The  engineers  and  the  stokers  then 
claimed  his  attention  so  that  it  was  quite  some  time 
before  he  emerged  on  to  the  steerage  deck.  He  called 
to  the  purser,  who  was  passing,  and  asked : 

"There  is,  I  believe,  a  Miss  Blossom  traveling  in 
this  class?" 

"Yes,  sir.     A  very  pretty  young  lady." 

Hastings  smiled.  "That's  a  compliment  from  you, 
you  rascal.  .  .  . !" 

"Well,  sir,  I  mean  it  as  a  compliment,"  grinned  the 
purser.  "She  is  absolutely  .  .  .  Talk  of  the  devil! 
Here  she  comes." 

He  turned  and  walked  after  the  girl,  who  had  at 
that  moment  emerged  from  the  cabin. 

"Miss  Blossom!  The  captain  would  like  to  speak 
to  you." 

The  girl  blushed  and  stood  waiting  as  Captain  Hast- 
ings walked  up  to  her.  He,  knowing  nothing  of  Miss 
Blossom's  experiences  with  the  various  men  she  had 
encountered  in  the  United  States,  was  slightly  embar- 
rassed by  the  girl's  evident  unwillingness  to  converse. 

"You  mustn't  be  afraid  of  me,  my  dear  young  lady," 
he  said,  "I'm  not  a  man-eater.  I  merely  have  a  mes- 
sage to  give  you  from  a  lady  who  shall  be  nameless. 
She  wishes  you  to  accept  this  first-class  ticket  and 
would  be  glad  if  you  would  transfer  your  belongings 
from  the  steerage  to  the  saloon  deck." 

"But,  Captain  Hastings  .  .  .,"  she  began,  her  sus- 
picions definitely  aroused,  "I  can  hardly  accept  such 
a  proposal.     I  cannot  afford  to  go  first  class  and  such        o. 


THE  SHIP  OF  DEATH  59 

an  invitation  can  hardly  have  been  prompted  by  pure 
loving-kindness.  ..." 

There  was  a  tinge  of  bitterness  in  her  voice. 

"Indeed,  you  are  making  a  mistake,"  replied  Hast- 
ings. "Any  hidden  motive  is  out  of  the  question. 
The  lady  said  to  me  that  she  was  anxious  to  remove 
you  from  certain  influences  while  on  the  voyage. 
What  she  meant  I  do  not  know.  As  for  being  reluc- 
tant to  accept  the  favor,  I  can  assure  you  that  the 
lady  is  enormously  rich.  And  now  that  I  have  ful- 
filled my  mission  I  would  ask  you  to  excuse  me." 

With  these  words  the  captain  saluted  and  moved 
away. 

Miss  Blossom  hastened  to  consult  Madame  Chapui- 
sat,  who  was  sitting  in  her  usual  comer,  the  baby 
asleep  in  her  arms.  When  she  had  heard  what  had 
happened  the  French  woman  said : 

"This  is  without  doubt  the  same  benefactor,  Miss 
Blossom,  who  sent  me  those  clothes  for  the  children 
and  the  hundred  dollars.  It  is  Lady  Mabel  Roade,  I 
am  sure  of  it." 

"No  doubt  you  are  right,  Madame  Chapuisat  At 
first  I  was  rather  suspicious,  I  thought  there  might  be 
something  behind  it.     But  what  ought  I  to  do?" 

"Why,  accept,  of  course.  Miss  Blossom!  And  be 
thankful  for  your  good  fortune.  I  shall  miss  you 
dreadfully.     You  have  done  such  a  lot  to  cheer  us  up." 

The  girl  thought  for  a  few  moments  and  realized 
that  the  other  was  giving  her  good  advice. 

"I  shall  not  be  so  very  far  away,"  she  replied  at  last 
"After  all,  I  am  only  going  to  another  deck,  and  I 
can  come  down  often  to  see  you  and  the  children.  Do 
you  think  I  had  better  go  at  once?** 

"Certainly.  Enjoy  your  good  luck  as  quickly  as 
you  can.    I  will  come  and  help  you  pack  your  things." 

Before  she  went,  Madame  Chapuisat  called  her  little 


6o  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

boy  to  her.  He  was  peering  over  the  edge  of  the  great 
coal  shaft  which  went  right  down  into  the  depths  of 
the  Gigantic. 

"Now  you  are  not  any  of  you  to  go  near  the  shaft, 
Gaston!"  cautioned  the  mother. 

"I  will  promise  not  to  climb,  mamma,  and  I  will 
hold  on  to  the  railing  all  the  time." 

The  smaller  children,  in  a  little  group  on  the  deck, 
were  happily  playing  with  pieces  of  colored  foil,  torn 
from  the  necks  of  wine  bottles  and  given  them  by  a 
friendly  steward.  Gold  and  silver,  red  and  green,  blue 
and  yellow,  the  fragments  of  foil  pleased  the  children 
by  their  glitter. 

"You  will  take  care  of  the  others,  Giaston?" 

"Yes,  mamma." 

"And  promise  me  not  to  climb?" 

"I  promise,  mamma." 

Madame  Chapuisat,  the  baby  in  her  arms,  followed 
Miss  Blossom  into  the  cabin.  She  had  not  been  gone 
very  long  before  Gaston,  as  is  the  way  of  elder 
brothers,  began  to  tease  the  little  ones.  He  took  their 
playthings  from  them  and  began  throwing  them  in 
the  air.  At  first  the  babies  cried,  wanting  their  pieces 
of  foil  back  again.  But  then  it  began  to  amuse  them 
to  see  the  shining  things  thrown  up  into  the  air.  And 
no  one  heeded  the  little  group.  All  at  once,  one  of  the 
fragments  of  foil — the  red  one,  particularly  beloved 
by  Louison — was  thrown  too  high  into  the  air,  sailed 
over  the  brass  railing,  and  fell  into  the  shaft.  The 
little  girl  broke  into  a  wail,  ran  unsteadily  toward  the 
shaft  and  began  to  clamber  up  the  railing.  Gaston, 
paralyzed  with  fright,  stood  watching,  as  his  little  sis- 
ter leaned  further  and  further  over  the  edge  of  the 
abyss. 

"I  think  not,  child!" 

A  hand  grasped  Louison  by  the  back  of  her  dress. 


>  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  6i 

lifted  her  off  the  railing  and  put  her  safely  on  the  deck. 
It  was  the  hand  of  the  Baptist. 

"Are  you  all  alone,  children?" 

They  were  speechless,  gazing  at  the  curious  man  in 
the  brown  robe,  with  the  long,  fair  hair  and  beard. 

Then  the  Baptist  seated  himself  on  one  of  the  deck 
bosses  and  said :  "Come  to  me,  children,  and  I  will  tell 
you  a  story  until  your  mother  returns." 

He  took  Louison  on  his  knee,  while  Gaston  crouched 
at  his  feet  and  the  other  two  little  girls  stood  on  either 
side  of  him.  A  few  people  crowded  curiously  round ; 
but  he  looked  over  their  heads  to  the  infinity  of  sea 
as  though  unconscious  of  the  sailors  going  about  their 
work,  or  of  the  silent  group  of  watchers.  Then,  turn- 
ing to  the  children,  he  said : 

"There  were  brought  imto  Him  little  children  that 
H^should  put  His  hand  upon  them  and  pray ;  and  the 
disciples  rebuked  them.  But  Jesus  said :  *Suffer  little 
children  and  forbid  them  not  to  come  unto  me,  for  of 
such  is  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven.  And  He  laid  his 
hands  on  them  and  departed  thence." 

At  this  moment  Madame  Chapuisat  forced  her  way 
into  the  centre  of  the  group.  An  obscure  anxiety 
about  the  children  had  caused  her  to  hurry  back  from 
the  cabin. 

"Is  this  your  mother,  children?"  asked  the  Baptist. 

But  the  little  ones  answered  no  word  and  he,  read- 
ing as  always  in  his  Testament,  went  his  way. 


y 


CHAPTER    IX 

DARTON  was  mystified  and  angry.  He  could 
not  imagine  whither  Miss  Blossom  had  disap- 
peared. He  had  taken  care  to  have  as  little  to 
do  with  her  as  possible  in  public  lest  it  be  suspected 
that  she  was  intended  as  a  victim  for  his  foul  business 
in  London.  Quietly,  however,  and  from  a  distance, 
he  had  watched  her  closely.  And  now  he  could  not 
find  her.  He  made  no  open  enquiries,  for  he  could 
not  have  people  asking  what  his  interest  was  in  a 
young  girl  traveling  alone  in  the  steerage.  He  knew 
well  the  extent  of  the  spy  system  maintained  by  the 
associations  and  committees  whose  task  it  was  to  fight 
the  White  Slave  Traffic.  His  own  record  was  not 
free  from  the  interruptions  of  similar  organizations. 
The  fact  remained  that  the  girl  had  disappeared  from 
the  steerage.  Certainly  she  was  not  in  the  second 
class.  She  must  therefore  be  on  the  saloon  deck.  As 
he  had  no  right  of  entry  to  this  deck,  Darton  was 
compelled  to  contain  his  soul  in  patience  and  wait  for 
the  mystery  to  explain  itself. 

His  relations  with  van  Houten  were  no  longer  as 
cordial  as  formerly.  He  could  not  forget  the  Dutch- 
man's word  at  the  close  of  their  business  conversation. 
Then  there  was  the  strange  letter,  which  must  inevi- 
tably be  connected  in  some  way  with  the  disappearance 
of  Miss  Blossom.  Undoubtedly  he  had  cause  for  anx- 
iety, although  he  strove  to  conceal  his  fear  behind  self- 
assurance  and  insolence.  At  heart  he  was  a  coward, 
and  the  letter  became  little  short  of  an  obsession. 
There  must  be  spies  on  board  this  ship.     Who  had 

62 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  63 

told  the  writer  of  the  letter  that  he  had  designs  on 
Miss  Blossom?  What  power  had  suddenly  snatched 
the  girl  out  of  his  reach?  He  might  have  asked 
Madame  Chapuisat,  one  of  the  sailors,  one  of  the 
stewardesses,  what  had  become  of  Miss  Blossom.  But 
his  tortuous  and  secretive  nature  shrank  from  such 
openness.  Besides  he  was  something  of  a  fatalist  and 
his  fatalism  was  strongly  tinged  with  superstition. 
Like  many  ignorant  and  uneducated  Roman  Catholics, 
he  had  a  few  rigid  observances.  He  never  drank  or 
did  business  or  thought  or  spoke  filthiness  on  a  Sunday. 
He  never  went  a  journey  on  a  Friday.  He  refused 
to  sit  down  to  table  when  the  party  numbered  thirteen. 
He  would  rather  bite  his  own  finger  than  kill  a  spider, 
and  the  sight  of  a  black  cat  made  him  miserable  for 
hours.  All  these  characteristics  inclined  him  to  leave 
Miss  Blossom's  fate  to  declare  itself. 

On  this  particular  evening  he  was  not  feeling  well. 
Although  the  sea  was  rough  and  the  great  Gigantic 
tossed  as  though  she  had  been  a  nutshell,  he  knew 
that  it  was  not  seasickness  that  affected  him.  Solitary 
he  sat  in  the  smoking-room,  drinking  glass  after  glass 
of  whiskey.  The  room  was  empty,  for  most  of  the 
passengers  had  gone  to  bed.  He  held  his  glass  firmly 
with  both  hands  when  he  drank  and  set  it  down  care- 
fully in  the  rack  with  which  the  table  was  covered. 
The  Gigantic  climbed  one  moment  to  the  summit  of 
a  great  wave  and  sank  the  next  as  though  into  the 
bowels  of  the  sea. 

At  this  moment  a  stewardess  came  into  the  saloon. 
She  was  taking  the  place  of  the  steward  usually  on 
duty  and,  in  response  to  Darton's  ring,  had  come  to 
see  what  was  required.  She  served  the  required  drink 
and  was  turning  to  go  when  Darton  said : 

"Won't  you  stay  and  talk  to  me  for  a  moment  or 
two?" 


64  THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH 

"I  am  afraid  I  have  not  time,  sir.'* 

But,  as  she  spoke,  the  ship  gave  a  violent  lurch  and 
she  found  herself  sitting-  on  the  sofa  next  to  Darton. 

"There !"  said  the  latter,  "that  shows  you  are  fated 
to  talk  to  me  for  a  little." 

They  fell  into  conversation  about  superstitions  and 
ghosts.  Darton  admitted  that  he  believed  in  super- 
natural influences  occasionally  making  themselves  felt 
in  daily  life. 

"I  never  believed  in  that  sort  of  thing  until  just 
now,"  said  the  stewardess. 

"What  has  converted  you?" 

"The  fact  that  since  I  have  been  on  board  the  Gi- 
gantic I  have  experienced  such  an  influence." 

"What  happened  ?"  inquired  Darton,  nervously. 

She  replied: 

"I  read  somewhere  that  there  are  people  able  to 
impose  their  will  from  a  distance  on  other  people. 
They  call  it  telepathy.     Such  a  person  is  on  board 


now." 


"On  board  now?"  echoed  Darton,  at  once  interested 
and  alarmed. 

The  storm  was  beginning  to  die  down.  The  ship 
seemed  to  be  getting  its  breath. 

"Many  things  have  happened,"  replied  the  steward- 
ess, "of  benefit  to  mankind.  Many  miracles  have  been 
performed  by  this  man  on  his  fellow  beings.  It  seems 
that  he  knows  everything." 

"Tell  me  more  of  this  man,"  urged  Darton.  "Is  it 
that  mad  fellow  dressed  like  a  monk  ?" 

"Yes,  sir.  That  is  him.  His  most  remarkable  con- 
quest is  Lady  Mabel  Roade.  She  is  entirely  under 
his  influence ;  he  works  through  her  without  her  know- 
ing it,  without  her  even  knowing  the  man  himself,  for 
her  husband  has  taken  care  that  they  should  never 
meet.     And  nevertheless  ..." 


THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH  65 

"What  does  she  do?" 

"She  distributes  money  and  benefits  to  the  needy 
through  strange  indirect  channels.  She  has  trans- 
ferred, suddenly  and  at  great  expense,  a  young  girl 
from  the  steerage  to  the  saloon  deck,  saying  that  the 
girl  was  in  some  danger.  ..." 

Darton  kept  a  tight  hold  on  himself  and  asked 
quietly : 

"And  all  this  you  ascribe  to  the  influence  of  the 
monk?" 

"Certainly  I  do;  and  that  is  not  all.  Pitt,  the  cook*s 
boy,  was  dreadfully  ill;  Dr.  Kallaway  had  given  him 
up.  All  of  a  sudden  he  was  cured,  miraculously  cured, 
as  though  a  healing  hand  had  been  laid  upon  him.  I 
was  nursing  him.  and  I  remember  the  doctor  saying 
that  the  recovery  was  a  miracle." 

"Anything  more  ?" 

"Yes.  One  of  the  sailors  tells  me  that  he  saw  yes- 
terday with  his  own  eyes,  this  stranger  spread  his 
hand  over  one  of  the  little  children  of  Madame  Cha- 
puisat  and  lift  it  safely  from  the  railing  over  the  coal 
shaft  to  the  deck  again.  The  whole  ship  is  talking  of 
him.  And  the  anonymous  letters  that  were  delivered 
before  the  boat  sailed.  .  .  .  People  are  now  saying  that 
nothing  will  happen  to  the  ship  so  long  as  he  is  on 
board.  Certainly  he  cured  little  Pitt,  for  the  boy  now 
remembers  hearing  his  voice  as  he  lay  at  the  crisis  of 
his  illness." 

As  Darton  did  not  reply  the  stewardess  got  up  to  go. 
"Good  night,"  she  said. 

But  Darton  only  grunted. 

He  sat  lost  in  thought.  Neither  whiskey  nor  to- 
bacco had  now  any  taste  for  him.  Profiting  by  a  lull 
in  the  already  lessening  storm  he  went  unsteadily  to 
his  cabin.  The  figure  of  the  Baptist  haunted  him. 
He  saw  him,  in  imagination,  striding  as  ever  up  and 


6S  THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH 

down  the  ship,  with  his  sad  smile  and  his  compassionate 
eyes,  the  sun  Hghting  up  his  fair  hair  like  a  halo,  the 
Testament  in  his  hand. 

Darton  put  his  hand  over  his  eyes  as  though  to  drive 
away  the  vision.  Undressing  as  though  in  a  panic,  he 
tumbled  into  his  berth  and  turned  out  the  light. 

Outside  the  storm  raged;  the  Gigantic  pitched  and 
tossed.  Darton  found  an  unwilling  comfort  in  what 
the  stewardess  had  said.  .  .  .  *So  long  as  this  man  is 
on  board  the  ship  was  safe.'  .  .  .  He  tried  to  sleep, 
but  the  howling  of  the  wind  and  the  beating  of  the 
seas  against  the  sides  of  the  Gigantic  prevented  him. 
There  came  into  his  mind,  from  some  long  forgotten 
day  of  childhood,  a  story,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that 
the  roaring  of  the  wind  and  waves  was  some  imearthly 
voice  relating  the  tale  which  had  so  strangely  recurred 
to  him.  "Now  it  came  to  pass  on  a  certain  day  that 
he  went  into  a  ship  with  his  disciples ;  and  he  said  unto 
them:  Let  us  go  over  unto  the  other  side  of  the  lake; 
and  they  launched  forth.  But  as  they  sailed  he  fell 
asleep.  And  there  came  down  a  storm  of  wind  on  the 
lake:  and  they  were  filled  with  water,  and  were  in 
jeopardy.  And  they  came  to  him,  and  awoke  him, 
saying:  Master,  master,  we  perish!  Then  he  arose 
and  rebuked  the  wind  and  the  raging  of  the  water; 
and  they  ceased,  and  there  was  a  calm.  And  he  said 
unto  them:  Where  is  your  faith?  And  they  being 
afraid  wondered,  saying  one  to  another :  What  manner 
of  man  is  this?  For  he  commandeth  even  the  winds 
and  water,  and  they  obey  him." 

Darton  was  now  sleeping  soundly.  The  weather 
was  certainly  calmer ;  the  great  ship  became  every  mo- 
ment steadier ;  the  noise  from  without  was  now  a  deep 
and  distant  murmur.  Suddenly  Darton  sat  upright  in 
bed,  as  though  waking  from  some  terrible  dream.    His 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  67 

eyes  stared  into  the  darkness,  but  when  he  spoke  it 
was  in  a  strange,  far-away  voice,  muffled  with  sleep. 
He  cried: 

"Who  are  you?  What  do  you  want?  Why  are 
you  wresthng  with  me  ...  ?  I  will  not  drown,  I 
swear  it.  .  .  .  !" 

But  no  one  answered,  no  one  heard. 

But  to  him,  in  the  grip  of  the  nightmare,  his  visions 
were  reality.  He  was  wrestling,  the  sweat  pouring 
down  his  face,  wrestling  with  all  his  might.  But  his 
opponent's  arms  were  like  steel,  his  strength  that  of  a 
giant.  Slowly  Darton  felt  himself  pressed  to  the 
ground,  and  in  that  moment  he  recognized  his  enemy. 

"It  is  a  struggle  for  thy  soul,"  he  heard  thundered 
in  his  ear,  "for  the  soul  that  thou  hast  debauched,  devil 
that  thou  art .  .  .  devil  and  son  of  a  devil ;  for  it  is  thy 
father  that  has  brought  all  evil  into  the  world,  war 
and  falsehood,  the  slaughter  of  thousands,  greed  and 
ambition,  and  therefore  I  am  wrestling  with  thee  for 
thy  soul.  Understand,  spawn  of  Lucifer,  that  it  is  I 
with  whom  thou  wrestlest.  ..." 

"Let  me  go !"  moaned  the  unhappy  man. 

"I  will  never  let  thee  go.  My  strength  is  greater 
than  thine,  and  the  word  of  my  mouth  is  truth,  while 
the  word  of  thy  mouth  is  lies!  See  how  thou  art 
overcome !  See  how  I  press  my  foot  on  thy  neck,  how 
I  trample  thee  under  my  feet,  for  I  am  the  ruler  of 
the  world.  I  and  my  Father  that  sent  me.  Yield  up 
thy  soul,  yield  up  the  souls  of  the  thousands  and  mil- 
lions whom  thou  hast  poisoned  with  thy  serpent's 
tongue.  Yield  them  up,  O  cursed  one,  for  I,  I  the 
son  of  man,  am  wrenching  them  from  thee!  Down 
into  the  dust,  eat  with  the  serpent  that  begot  thee! 
Thou  and  thy  kind  are  the  makers  of  the  war;  thy 
heart  and  the  thoughts  of  thy  heart  have  brought  this 
misery  upon  millions  in  the  world,  and  for  the  souls 


■>  ■■?^5^''^1  "/^■■p'^5- ■'^.-^ 


68  THE    SHIP   OF   DEATH 

of  these  millions  as  for  thy  soul,  I  am  wrestling  with 
thee!  Lie  there  on  the  ground!  Choke  and  choke 
again !  For  from  the  beginning  of  the  world  art  thou 
the  devil!" 

Darton  felt  himself  bathed  in  sweat  but  still  the  vis- 
ion persisted.  He  saw  the  Baptist  clearly  before  him 
and  it  seemed  as  though,  while  he  lay  on  the  ground 
bound  with  chains,  this  strange  and  terrible  being 
brandished  over  him  a  flaming  sword.  At  last  he 
seemed  to  hear  himself  gasp :  "Let  me  speak !" 

The  pressure  seemed  to  lessen.  With  an  effort  Dar- 
ton spoke  once  more. 

"I  yield  her  up  to  you." 

"Whom?" 

"The  girl  I  sought  to  destroy." 

"And  whom  else  ?" 

"The  thousands,  the  tens  of  thousands,  the  hundreds 
of  thousands,  the  millions,  from  every  country  of  the 
world  forced  as  slaves  and  sacrifices  to  the  hideous 
service  of  Moloch  by  the  spirit  of  avarice  which  is  the 
spirit  of  this  war,  the  spirit  to  which  I  bear  testimony 
by  the  evil  of  my  life." 

"Forswear  me,  Moloch!" 

"Thrice  be  Moloch  forsworn !" 

"Curse  me  him  thrice." 

"Thrice  be  Moloch  cursed!** 

"For  I  wrestle  with  thee,  as  once  I  wrestled  with 
thine  ancestor  Jacob  !'* 

"My  ancestor  Jacob,**  echoed  through  Darton*s  lips, 
the  voice  of  Satan. 

*And  I  have  conquered  thee?" 
'I  am  conquered." 

Silence  reigned  in  the  cabin. 

As  Darton  did  not  appear  at  breakfast  the  follow- 
ing morning  a   steward  went  to  his  cabin.     After 


"i 


THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH  69 

1.1 

knocking  in  vain,  the  man  opened  the  door  and  found 
Darton  lying  in  a  pool  of  blood.  He  was  dead.  The 
port-hole  of  the  cabin  was  broken.  The  doctor's 
theory  was  that,  during  the  storm,  the  dead  man  must 
have  got  out  of  his  berth  and  fallen  with  both  arms 
against  the  glass;  the  arteries  were  cut  clean  through 
by  the  splinters ;  as  no  help  had  been  at  hand  the  vic- 
tim had  bled  to  death.  He  had  been  dead  for  several 
hours. 

At  this  moment,  reading  his  Testament,  the  Baptist 
passed  the  cabin  door. 

"What  has  happened  ?"  he  asked  a  sailor. 

"One  of  the  passengers  has  fallen  against  the  port- 
hole in  a  dream  and  cut  himself  so  badly  that  he  bled 
to  death." 

"Darton,  I  suppose  ?"  asked  the  Baptist. 

The  other  nodded. 

"I  thought  so.  It  must  have  happened  between  half 
past  eleven  and  twelve." 

"Maybe,  sir.  The  doctor  says  he  has  been  dead 
for  several  hours." 

"Between  half  past  eleven  and  twelve  ..."  mur- 
mured the  Baptist  and  went  his  way  without  another 
word. 


CHAPTER   X 

IT  is  curious  how  general  is  the  effect  of  a  death 
on  board  a  steamer.  The  two  thousand  passen- 
gers of  the  Gigantic,  who  on  land  belonged  to 
such  totally  different  classes  with  such  varied  interests, 
were  affected  alike  from  highest  to  lowest,  as  though 
they  had  been  the  members  of  a  single  family.  The 
news  of  the  disaster  spread  like  wildfire  and  the  conjec- 
tures as  to  the  manner  of  the  death  were  endless.  In- 
evitably was  everyone  haunted  by  the  thought  of  the 
wdtery  grave  to  which  the  dead  man  must  be  com- 
mitted. Captain  Hastings,  anxious  to  upset  as  little 
as  possible  the  comfort  of  the  passengers  and  to  carry 
out  the  ceremony  with  the  greatest  privacy  that  could 
be  managed,  fixed  the  hour  for  six  o'clock  the  follow- 
ing morning.  Despite  his  secrecy,  however,  the  rumor 
of  the  time  appointed  trickled  through  the  ship.  Dar- 
ton's  body  obsessed  the  minds  of  all  on  board  to  a 
far  greater  extent  than  had  ever  done  the  anonymous 
letters.  On  the  saloon  deck  it  was  now  the  fashion 
to  laugh  at  these  mysterious  warnings.  Even  the 
handful  of  serious  folk  in  the  second  class,  who  were 
still  inclined  to  worry  at  the  threat,  assured  each  other 
that  they  were  already  so  near  the  English  coast  as  to 
make  rescue  a  certainty,  even  in  the  case  of  submarine 
attack.  Whether  or  no  the  Gigantic  carried  munitions 
dropped  out  as  a  subject  for  discussion.  Was  it  not 
ridiculous  to  think  that  the  German  Government  would 
have  so  little  respect  for  the  various  neutral  countries 
represented  on  board  the  Gigantic  as  to  risk  torpedo- 
ing a  vessel  carrying  Americans,  Swiss,  Dutchmen, 
Danes  and  Swedes? 

70 


THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH  71 

But  Captain  Hastings  knew  how  great  an  effect  on 
the  lives  of  his  passengers  the  death  of  Darton  would 
have.  No  one  on  board,  with  the  exception  of  van 
Houten,  seemed  to  have  known  the  dead  man  at  all 
intimately.  Common  sense  suggested  that  the  body- 
be  rapidly  lowered  into  the  sea,  early  in  the  morning, 
without  formality  or  ceremony. 

At  the  same  time  it  jarred  on  Hastings's  principles 
to  perform  the  burial  without  at  least  a  touch  of 
solemnity.  At  last  he  had  an  idea.  This  leader  of 
the  Philadelphian  Christian  Scientists  was  always  on 
deck  early  in  the  morning.  He  was,  in  a  sense,  a 
minister  of  religion  and,  in  the  absence  of  any  other, 
would  doubtless  be  the  right  man  to  say  a  few  words 
over  the  corpse.  The  captain  set  out  in  search  of  the 
Baptist  and  found  him,  Testament  in  his  hand,  stand- 
ing by  the  rail  and  gazing  over  the  waste  of  the  At- 
lantic. 

"Mr.  Chatelanard !" 

The  Baptist  turned. 

"Good  morning,  captain,"  he  replied,  and  the  note 
of  astonishment  in  his  voice  sounded  as  though  it 
were  assumed.  The  captain  had  a  feeling  that  he  had 
been  expected,  that  what  he  had  to  ask  was  already 
known.     He  went  straight  to  the  point 

"I  hope  you  will  pardon  my  speaking  to  you,  Mr. 
Chatelanard,  but  we  have  no  other  minister  on  board 
and  you,  I  believe,  are  the  leader  of  the  Christian  Scien- 
tists in  Philadelphia.  Probably  you  do  not  see  eye  to 
eye  with  other  ministers  .  .  . " 

"Indeed,  captain,  I  do  not,"  interrupted  the  Baptist. 
"Many  will  say  to  me  in  that  day,  Lord,  Lord,  have 
we  not  prophesied  in  Thy  name,  and  in  Thy  name 
have  cast  out  devils,  and  in  Thy  name  done  many 
wonderful  works  ?  And  then  will  I  profess  unto  them, 
I  never  knew  you;  depart  from  me,  ye  that  work 
iniquity.     Nevertheless,  I  will  do  what  you  ask." 


72  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

The  captain  forgot  to  wonder  at  the  reading  of 
his  thoughts. 

"I  am  much  obliged  to  you.  I  suppose  you  have 
heard  about  this  affair?" 

"You  mean  Barton's  death,  captain  ?" 

"Yes.  A  curious  business  .  .  .,"  repHed  Captain 
Hastings  tentatively. 

"He  tried  to  fight  against  God  and  God  has  smitten 
him,"  said  the  Baptist  solemnly. 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  that,  Mr.  Chatelanard, 
as  I  did  not  know  the  man  myself.  But  I  hope  you 
will  not  mind  if  the  ceremony  is  rather  early  in  the 
morning.     Can  I  count  upon  you  ?" 

"You  can  count  upon  me,  captain,  but  in  reality 
the  matter  does  not  lie  in  my  hands,  nor  yet  in  yours." 

"I  do  not  understand.  ..." 

"A  city  that  is  set  on  a  hill  cannot  be  hid,  neither 
do  men  light  a  candle  and  put  it  under  a  vessel  but  on 
a  candlestick  and  it  giveth  light  imto  all  that  are  in 
the  house." 

Hastings  was  embarrassed  and  stood  silent,  not 
knowing  what  to  say.     The  Baptist  went  on : 

"Let  your  light  so  shine  before  men  that  they  may 
see  your  good  works  and  glorify  your  Father  which 
is  in  heaven." 

With  these  words  he  opened  his  book  and  fell  to 
reading.    The  captain  walked  away. 

The  following  morning,  as  the  sun  threw  its  rays 
over  the  sea,  there  collected  a  little  group  of  sailors 
near  the  stern  of  the  Gigantic.  The  ship  moved  very 
slowly.  Standing  a  little  apart,  with  the  corpse  of 
Darton  swathed  in  sacking  at  their  feet,  stood  the 
captain,  the  ship's  doctor  and  van  Houten.  They 
were  waiting  for  the  Baptist.  Despite  all  requests  to 
the  contrary  it  seemed  that  every  cabin  knew  that  the 
hour  of  the  burial  was  at  hand.     Here  and  there  a 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  73 

head  appeared  at  the  windows  giving  on  to  the  deck. 
Striding  toward  the  stem,  his  hair  golden  in  the 
morning  sunlight,  the  Baptist  attracted  curious  glances 
from  every  side.  Pitt  peeped  from  the  companion- 
way  above  the  kitchen.  The  steerage,  unashamedly 
interested,  stretched  their  necks  and  stood  on  tiptoe 
in  order  to  see. 

The  Baptist  reached  the  little  group : 

"Peace  be  with  you !" 

And  the  rough  seamen  uncovered  their  heads  and 
stood  before  him.  Walking  up  to  the  corpse,  the  Bap- 
tist gave  it  a  rapid  glance  and  then,  raising  his  eyes 
to  heaven,  spoke  as  follows : 

"Verily,  verily,  I  say  unto  you,  The  Son  can  do 
nothing  of  himself,  but  what  he  seeth  the  Father  do ; 
for  what  things  soever  he  doeth,  these  also  doeth  the 
Son  likewise.  For  the  Father  loveth  the  Son,  and 
showeth  him  all  things  that  himself  doeth;  and  he  will 
show  him  greater  works  than  these,  that  ye  may  mar- 
vel. For  as  the  Father  raiseth  up  the  dead  and  quick- 
eneth  them,  even  so  the  Son  quickeneth  whom  he  will. 
For  the  Father  judgeth  no  man,  but  hath  committed 
all  judgment  unto  the  Son ;  that  all  men  should  honor 
the  Son  even  as  they  honor  the  Father.  He  that 
honoreth  not  the  Son  honoreth  not  the  Father  which 
hath  sent  him. 

"Verily,  verily,  I  say  unto  you.  He  that  heareth  my 
word,  and  believeth  on  him  that  sent  me,  hath  ever- 
lasting life,  and  shall  not  come  into  condemnation, 
but  is  passed  from  death  unto  life.  Verily,  verily,  I 
say  unto  you.  The  hour  is  coming,  and  now  is,  when 
the  dead  shall  hear  the  voice  of  the  Son  of  God;  and 
they  that  hear  shall  live.  For  as  the  Father  hath  life 
in  himself,  so  hath  He  given  to  the  Son  to  have  life 
in  himself ;  and  He  hath  given  him  authority  to  execute 
judgment  also,  because  he  is  the  Son  of  man.     Marvel 


74  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

not  at  this;  for  the  hour  is  coming,  in  the  which  all 
that  are  in  the  graves  shall  hear  his  voice  and  shall 
come  forth ;  they  that  have  done  good,  unto  the  resur- 
rection of  life,  and  they  that  have  done  evil,  unto  the 
resurrection  of  damnation. 

"I  can  of  mine  own  self  do  nothing;  as  I  hear,  I 
judge;  and  my  judgment  is  just,  because  I  seek  not 
mine  own  will,  but  the  will  of  the  Father  which  hath 
sent  me.  If  I  bear  witness  of  myself  my  witness  is 
not  true ;  there  is  another  that  beareth  witness  of  me ; 
and  I  know  that  the  witness  which  he  witnesseth  of  mo 
is  true. 

"Ye  sent  unto  John,  and  he  bare  witness  unto  the 
truth.  But  I  receive  not  testimony  from  man;  but 
these  things  I  say,  that  ye  might  be  saved.  He  was 
a  burning  and  a  shining  light,  and  ye  were  willing 
for  a  season  to  rejoice  in  his  light.  But  I  have  greater 
witness  than  that  of  John;  for  the  works  which  the 
Father  hath  given  me  to  finish,  the  same  works  that  I 
do,  bear  witness  of  me,  that  the  Father  hath  sent  me. 
And  the  Father  himself,  which  hath  sent  me,  hath 
borne  witness  of  me.  Ye  have  neither  heard  His 
voice  at  any  time,  nor  seen  His  shape.  And  ye  have 
not  His  word  abiding  in  you ;  for  whom  He  hath  sent, 
him  ye  believe  not. 

"Search  the  Scriptures,  for  in  them  ye  think  ye  have 
eternal  life;  and  they  are  they  which  testify  of  me; 
and  ye  will  not  come  to  me,  that  ye  might  have  life. 

"I  receive  not  honor  from  men.  But  I  know  you, 
that  ye  have  not  the  love  of  God  in  you.  I  am  come 
in  my  Father's  name,  and  ye  receive  me  not;  if  an- 
other shall  come  in  his  own  name,  him  ye  will  receive. 
How  can  ye  believe  which  receive  honor  one  of  an- 
other, and  seek  not  the  honor  that  cometh  from  God 
only? 

"Do  not  think  that  I  will  accuse  you  to  the  Father ; 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  75 

there  is  one  that  accuseth  you,  even  Moses,  in  whom 
ye  trust;  for  had  ye  beUeved  Moses,  ye  would  have 
believed  me,  for  he  wrote  of  me ;  but  if  ye  believe  not 
his  writings,  how  shall  ye  believe  my  words  ?" 

The  Baptist  stopped  speaking.  Captain  Hastings 
and  the  doctor  looked  at  each  other  in  perplexity,  for 
they  did  not  understand  the  application  of  the  Bap- 
tist's words.  But  van  Houten  dropped  his  head  and 
this  the  Baptist  noticed.     He  went  on  therefore : 

"For  the  kingdom  of  heaven  is  like  unto  a  man  that 
is  a  householder  which  went  out  early  in  the  morning 
to  hire  laborers  into  his  vineyard.  And  when  he  had 
agreed  with  the  laborers  for  a  penny  a  day,  he  sent 
them  into  his  vineyard.  And  he  went  out  about  the 
third  hour,  and  saw  others  standing  idle  in  the  market- 
place; and  he  said  unto  them:  Gd  ye  also  into  the 
vineyard,  and  whatsoever  is  right  I  will  give  you ;  and 
they  went  their  way.  Again  he  went  out  about  the 
sixth  and  ninth  hour,  and  did  likewise.  And  about 
the  eleventh  hour  he  went  out,  and  found  others  stand- 
ing idle ;  and  he  saith  unto  them :  Why  stand  ye  here 
all  the  day  idle?  They  say  unto  him :  Because  no  man 
hath  hired  us.  He  saith  unto  them :  Go  ye  also  into 
the  vineyard;  and  whatsoever  is  right,  that  shall  ye 
receive.  So  when  even  was  come,  the  lord  of  the 
vineyard  saith  unto  the  steward :  Call  the  laborers,  and 
give  them  their  hire,  beginning  from  the  last  unto  the 
first.  And  when  they  came  that  were  hired  about  the 
eleventh  hour,  they  received  every  man  a  penny.  But 
when  the  first  came,  they  supposed  that  they  should 
have  received  more;  and  they  likewise  received  every 
man  a  penny.  And  when  they  had  received  it,  they 
murmured  against  the  good  man  of  the  house,  saying  : 
These  last  have  wrought  but  one  hour,  and  thou  hast 
made  them  equal  unto  us  which  have  borne  the  burden 
and  heat  of  the  day.     But  he  answered  one  of  them. 


76  THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH 

and  said :  Friend,  I  do  thee  no  wrong ;  didst  not  thou 
agree  with  me  for  a  penny  ?  Take  that  thine  is,  and 
go  thy  way;  I  will  give  unto  this  last  even  as  unto 
thee.  Is  it  not  lawful  for  me  to  do  what  I  will  with 
mine  own  ?  Is  thine  eye  evil,  because  I  am  good  ?  So 
the  last  shall  be  first,  and  the  first  last;  for  many  be 
called,  but  few  chosen." 

Van  Houten  felt  that  the  Baptist  had  spoken  the 
parable  to  him  and  to  him  only,  and,  while  the  hands 
of  the  strange  being  were  raised  in  a  final  blessing 
over  Darton's  body,  while  the  sailors  raised  the  sack 
and  poised  it  high  above  the  sea,  the  Jew  from  the 
slums  in  Amsterdam  came  to  a  quick  decision.  He 
felt  a  sudden  desire  for  knowledge. 

The  sun  glittered  like  gold  dust  on  the  Atlantic. 
The  Baptist  stood,  his  eyes  raised  to  heaven,  his  hands 
crossed  on  the  Book.  Slowly  the  corpse  in  its  sacking 
winding  sheet  was  lowered  into  the  water.  Hardly 
had  it  disappeared  than  people  swarmed  on  to  every 
deck  and  the  engines  moved  once  more  at  full  speed. 
But  there  was  no  trace,  on  the  oily  swell  of  the  ocean, 
of  Darton's  grave. 

Van  Houten  walked  up  to  the  Baptist. 

"May  I  speak  to  you  ?"  he  whispered. 

And  the  Baptist  replied: 

"Follow  me." 


«7 


CHAPTER   XI 

AS  though  led  by  some  invisible  hand  and  com- 
pelled by  some  strange  but  irresistible  will,  van 
Houten  followed  the  Baptist  to  a  deserted  cor- 
ner of  the  deck.  The  two  men  sat  down  on  a  couple 
of  folding  chairs  which  happened  to  be  on  the  spot 
and  for  a  moment  or  two  gazed  silently  over  the  end- 
less expanse  of  glittering  sea.  Then  the  Baptist  turned 
his  light  brown  eyes  to  the  Jew's  anxious  face,  which 
looked  as  though  the  tossing  to  and  fro  in  his  mind 
of  some  perplexing  problem  had  prevented  sleep 
throughout  the  night.     At  last  the  Baptist  spoke : 

'You  wish  to  speak  to  me,  Mr.  van  Houten?" 

'You  know  me,  then?" 

"I  know  you." 

Although  it  would  have  been  easy  enough  for  this 
man  to  look  him  up  in  the  passenger  book  and  so 
identify  him,  van  Houten  had  an  uneasy  feeling  that 
the  words  'I  know  you*  had  some  deeper  and  more 
significant  meaning.  Even  as  the  Jew  hesitated,  his 
eyes  on  the  ground,  the  Baptist  said  quietly : 

"You  are  worrying  over  Darton's  death,  Mr.  van 
Houten." 

"Indeed  I  am !"  returned  the  other.  "You  can  im- 
agine that  such  a  sudden  end  to  a  man  whom  I  knew 
quite  intimately,  whom  I  saw  constantly  every  day, 
must  inevitably  upset  me.  The  disaster  seems  so  inex- 
plicable." 

For  a  moment  it  seemed  as  though  the  Baptist  was 
not  listening.  His  eyes  roved  once  more  over  the  At- 
lantic, and  he  appeared  to  give  heed  only  to  the  sigh 

77 


-:' .  -  y*' Y.l'>'.  V^'::'?r ' 


78  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

of  the  waves,  brushing  the  steel  sides  of  the  ship. 
Therefore  van  Houten  was  surprised  when,  evidently 
in  response  to  his  last  remark,  he  heard  the  following 
strange  sentence : 

"You  and  other  ordinary  men  call  it  a  disaster,  Mr. 
van  Houten.  But  it  was  no  disaster,  it  was  a  judg- 
ment." 

Van  Houten's  instinct  was  to  defend  the  dead  man. 
He  opened  his  mouth  to  rebut  the  implied  accusation. 
But  the  words  died  on  his  lips.  He  felt  himself  dom- 
inated by  the  personality  of  h'S  companion.  His  an- 
swer, when  it  came,  was  very  different : 

"I  was  deeply  moved,  sir,  by  the  words  you  spoke 
over  Darton's  body." 

"They  were  not  my  words,  Mr.  van  Houten." 

"Not  yours?  I  have  never  heard  such  sayings  be« 
fore." 

"You  are  a  Jew  ?" 

"Yes.  A  Jewish  slum  child  from  Amsterdam  who 
has  made  a  bit  of  money  in  America." 

"I  see.  And  has  the  money  brought  you  happi- 
ness ?" 

After  a  short  silence  van  Houten  asked : 

"Why  do  you  ask  me  that  ?  To  say  that  money  has 
brought  happiness  is  not  quite  the  way  I  should  put 
it.  But  I  have  worked  day  and  night  and  the  little 
that  I  have  earned  is  my  reward.  There  are  people 
on  this  ship  with  ten  thousand  times  as  mUch  money 
as  I  have.     Are  they  happy  ?" 

"According  to  their  lights,  yes,  Mr.  van  Houten,  but 
of  them  is  not  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven." 

"The  Kingdom  of  Heaven  ?" 

"It  is  easier  for  a  camel  to  pass  through  the  eye  of 
a  needle  than  for  a  rich  man  to  enter  into  the  King- 
dom of  God.  That  was  the  opinion  of  Him  whose 
words  I  was  speaking  over  Darton's  body.    If  to-day 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  79 

all  these  people  are  lost,  of  what  good  is  their  wealth 
to  them?" 

Van  Houten  started  violently : 

"All  lost?"  he  cried  in  alarm. 

"All  those  who  lay  up  for  themselves  treasure  upon 
earth  where  moths  and  rust  do  corrupt  and  where 
thieves  break  through  and  steal,  for  where  our  treasure 
is  there  is  our  heart  also.  Where  is  your  heart,  Mr. 
van  Houten?" 

"I  do  not  know,"  stammered  the  Jew. 

"You  do  not  know  ?  Why  then  have  you  come  to 
me,  and  what  do  you  want  to  ask  ?" 

"I  came  because  I  was  worried  and  anxious." 

"You^.came,  rather,  from  fear,  Mr.  van  Houten. 
From  fear  of  death." 

"You  seem  to  guess  my  thoughts,  sir.  It  is  true 
that  I  came  out  of  fear  of  death.  Do  you  believe  the 
Gigantic  will  be  sunk  ?" 

The  Baptist  looked  pityingly  at  van  Houten. 

"It  is  not  given  to  me  to  read  the  future.  But  the 
sinking  of  the  Gigantic  has  nothing  to  do  with  my  be- 
Hef." 

"But  are  we  not  both  on  board  the  ship,  you 
and  I?" 

"Certainly  we  are,  but  he  that  believeth  in  me, 
though  he  were  dead,  yet  shall  he  live ;  and  whosoever 
liveth  and  believeth  in  me  shall  never  die.  To  those 
who  love  God  all  things  are  for  the  best  which  are 
ordained  to  happen.  Among  such  things  is  the  sink- 
ing of  the  Gigantic/* 

"The  sinking  of  the  Gigantic?" 

"Certainly.  For  is  not  God  able  from  these  stones 
to  raise  up  children  unto  Abraham?" 

"I  cannot  follow  you,  sir.  How  can  the  sinking  of 
the  Gigantic  be  for  the  best  ?" 

'You  omit  part  of  what  I  said,  Mr.  van  Houten.     I 


it^ 


8o  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

said  such  things  were  for  the  best  to  those  who  love 
God:' 

"And  who  are  they?" 

"Ask  yourself  that  question.  Whom  do  you  love  ? 
Where  is  your  treasure  ?  For  where  your  treasure  is 
there  is  your  heart  also.  What  is  it  you  desire  with 
every  fibre  of  your  being?" 

"I  do  not  know." 

"But  I  know.  With  every  fibre  of  your  being  you 
desire  to  get  safely  off  this  ship  to  England  and  from 
England  to  Holland,  because  you  want  to  increase 
your  possessions  tenfold.  And  that  is  why  I  asked 
you  whether  you  loved  God." 

Van  Houten  had  no  reply  to  this  plain  speaking. 
His  silence  amounted  to  a  confession.  For  the  Bap- 
tist was  right ;  he  had  expressed  to  the  last  detail  the 
sole  desire  which  possessed  the  Jew. 

As  van  Houten  remained  silent,  the  Baptist  con- 
tinued : 

"My  Father  in  heaven  knows  that  which  you  need 
before  you  ask  and  therefore  whether  the  Gigantic  is 
sunk  or  not  makes  no  difference,  because  my  Heavenly 
Father  knows  of  what  I  have  need." 

"You  are  wonderful!" 

"But  that  is  not  why  I  am  speaking  to  you,  Mr.  van 
Houten,"  said  the  Baptist  earnestly.  "There  are  few  on 
board  to  whom  I  would  talk  in  tliis  way.  The  whole 
world  is  at  stake,  but  I  am  not  of  the  world;  In  these 
days  that  which  was  spoken  is  being  fulfilled." 

"And  that  was?" 

"They  will  put  you  out  of  the  synagogues  and 
whosoever  killeth  you  will  think  that  he  doeth  God 
service.     Such  a  time,  Mr.  van  Houten,  is  ours." 

"Tell  me  more  of  our  time." 

"There  is  also  written:  Verily,  verily,  I  say  unto 
you  that  ye  shall  weep  and  lament  but  the  world  shall 
rejoice;  and  ye  shall  be  sorrowful  but  your  sorrow 


THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH  8i 

shall  be  turned  into  joy.  A  woman  when  she  is  in 
travail  hath  sorrow,  because  her  hour  is  come :  but  as 
soon  as  she  is  delivered  of  the  child,  she  remembereth 
no  more  the  anguish,  for  joy  that  a  man  is  born  into 
the  world.  Such  a  woman,  Mr.  van  Houten,  is  our 
time.  The  world  is  in  travail  and  no  one  knows  what 
future  is  in  store  for  mankind.  But  I  know  it  because 
I  have  faith,  as  you  also  should  have  faith,  the  faith 
that  removes  mountains." 

"Give  me  such  faith!" 

"That  I  cannot  do.  It  can  only  come  by  personal 
experience.  Perhaps  the  sinking-  of  the  Gigantic  will 
teach  you  faith,  as  my  illness  in  St.  Louis  taught  it  to 
me.  At  that  time  I  was  bom  again.  Do  you  feel 
that  you  can  be  born  again  ?" 

"How  can  I  be  bom  again  ?" 

"He  said  that  it  must  be.  Whether  we  have  the 
strength  or  not  is  the  essential  element  of  our  fate 
to-day.  There  was  once  a  Pharisee  called  Nicodemus, 
a  ruler  among  the  Jews,  who  came  to  Jesus,  just  as 
you  have  come  to  me  and  found  him  in  the  night  and 
said  to  Him :  Rabbi,  we  know  that  thou  art  a  teacher 
come  from  God,  for  no  man  can  do  these  miracles 
that  thou  doest  except  God  be  with  him.  And  Jesus 
answered  and  said :  Verily,  verily,  I  say  unto  thee.  Ex- 
cept a  man  be  born  again,  he  cannot  see  the  Kingdom 
of  God." 

Van  Houten  was  staring  in  silent  amazement  at 
the  Baptist,  who,  with  a  look  full  of  pity,  continued 
the  narrative: 

"Nicodemus  saith  unto  Him:  How  can  a  man  be 
bom  again  when  he  is  old  ?  Can  he  enter  the  second 
time  into  his  mother's  womb  and  be  bom  ?  Jesus  an- 
swered :  Verily,  verily,  I  say  unto  thee.  Except  a  man 
be  bom  of  water  and  of  the  spirit  he  cannot  enter  the 
Kingdom  of  God." 


82  THE    SHIP    OF   DEATH 

"Of  water  and  of  the  spirit  ?"  repeated  van  Houten. 

"So  it  is  written.  And  further :  That  which  is  born 
of  the  flesh  is  flesh  and  that  which  is  born  of  the  spirit 
is  spirit.  Marvel  not  that  I  said  unto  thee,  Ye  must 
be  born  again.  The  wind  bloweth  where  it  Hsteth,  and 
thou  hearest  the  sound  thereof,  but  canst  not  tell 
whence  it  cometh  and  whither  it  goeth.  And  so,  Mr. 
van  Houten,  is  our  time." 

Van  Houten  had  now  understood.  As  in  a  dream 
he  repeated  the  majestic  words :  "Thou  canst  not  tell 
whence  it  cometh  and  whither  it  goeth." 

"One  thing,  however,  we  do  know,  Mr.  van  Hou- 
ten, that  our  time  has  come  to  fulfillment.  Nicodemus 
did  not  know  this  for  he  asked :  How  can  these  things 
be?" 

"And  what  did  the  other  answer?"  enquired  van 
Houten, 

"He  answered,  as  to-day  the  leaders  of  the  peoples 
should  answer :  Art  thou  a  master  of  Israel,  and  know- 
est  not  these  things  ?  Verily,  verily,  I  say  unto  thee, 
we  speak  that  we  do  know,  and  testify  that  we  have 
seen;  and  ye  receive  not  our  witness.  If  I  have  told 
you  earthly  things,  and  ye  believe  not,  how  shall  ye 
believe  if  I  tell  you  of  heavenly  things?  And  no  man 
hath  ascended  up  to  heaven,  but  he  that  came  down 
from  heaven,  even  the  Son  of  man,  which  is  in  heaven. 
And  as  Moses  lifted  up  the  serpent  in  the  wilderness, 
even  so  must  the  Son  of  man  be  lifted  up;  that  who- 
soever believeth  in  him  should  not  perish,  but  have 
eternal  life. 

"For  God  so  loved  the  world  that  he  gave  his  only 
begotten  Son,  that  whosoever  believeth  in  him  should 
not  perish  but  have  everlasting  life.  For  God  sent 
not  his  Son  into  the  world  to  condemn  the  world,  but 
that  the  world  through  him  might  be  saved.  He  that 
believeth  in  him  is  not  condemned;  but  he  that  be- 


THE    SHIP    OF   DEATH  83 

lieveth  not  is  condemned  already,  because  he  hath  not 
believed  in  the  name  of  the  only  begotten  Son  of  God. 
And  this  is  the  condemnation,  that  fight  is  come  into 
the  world,  and  men  loved  darkness  rather  than  light, 
because  their  deeds  were  evil." 

"That  is  indeed  true  to-day,"  said  van  Houten,  "that 
men  love  darkness  rather  than  light  because  their  deeds 
are  evil." 

"And  the  story  goes  on,  Mr.  van  Houten,  that  Jesus 
said :  Everyone  that  doeth  evil  hateth  the  light,  neither 
cometh  to  the  light  lest  his  deeds  should  be  reproved ; 
but  he  that  doeth  truth,  cometh  to  the  light  that  his 
deeds  may  be  made  manifest,  that  they  are  wrought  in 
God." 

The  soul  of  the  Jew  was  in  a  turmoil.  The  words 
of  the  gospel,  never  before  heard  by  him,  were  im- 
planted in  his  soul  like  seeds  of  the  future.  At  last 
he  asked: 

"What  shall  I  do  to  achieve  faith  and  to  be  like 
you?" 

As  once  before  the  Baptist  seemed  to  have  forgotten 
his  disciple.  His  spirit  seemed  to  be  wandering  over 
the  lands  and  seas  of  the  world,  over  the  lands  which 
were  seeing  the  slaughter  of  so  many  thousands,  over 
the  seas  in  which  so  many  vessels  had  been  engulfed. 
He  did  not  reply  to  van  Houten's  question.  The  Jew 
repeated  therefore : 

"What  shall  I  do  to  achieve  faith  and  to  be  like 
you?" 

The  Baptist  smiled  and  in  reply  spoke  as  follows : 

"There  met  Him  by  chance  a  certain  man  who  ran 
and  kneeled  before  him  and  asked :  Good  Master,  what 
shall  I  do  to  inherit  eternal  life  ?  And  Jesus  said  unto 
him :  Why  callest  thou  me  good  ?  None  is  good,  save 
one,  that  is,  God.  Thou  knowest  the  commandments : 
*Do  not  commit  adultery.  Do  not  kill^  Do  not  steal, 


84  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

Do  not  bear  false  witness,  Honor  thy  father  and  thy 
mother.  And  he  said:  AH  these  have  I  kept  from 
my  youth  up. 

"Now  when  Jesus  heard  these  things,  he  said  unto 
him :  Yet  lackest  thou  one  thing ;  sell  all  that  thou  hast, 
and  distribute  unto  the  poor,  and  thou  shalt  have  treas- 
ure in  heaven;  and  come,  follow  me.  And  when  he 
heard  this  he  was  very  sorrowful;  for  he  was  very 
rich.  And  when  Jesus  saw  that  he  was  very  sorrow- 
ful, he  said:  How  hardly  shall  they  that  have  riches 
enter  into  the  kingdom  of  God !  For  it  is  easier  for 
a  camel  to  go  through  a  needle's  eye  than  for  a  rich 
man  to  enter  into  the  kingdom  of  God.  And  they  that 
heard  it  said :  Who  then  can  be  saved  ?  And  he  said : 
The  things  which  are  impossible  with  men  are  possible 
with  God. 

"Then  Peter  said :  Lo,  we  have  left  all  and  followed 
thee.  And  he  said  unto  them :  Verily  I  say  unto  you. 
There  is  no  man  that  hath  left  house,  or  parents,  or 
brethren,  or  wife,  or  children,  for  the  Kingdom  of 
God's  sake,  who  shall  not  receive  manifold  more  in 
this  present  time,  and,  in  the  world  to  come,  life  ever- 
lasting.'* 

As  he  was  speaking  the  Baptist  kept  his  eyes  stead- 
ily seawards,  and  now,  when  he  turned  round  to  look 
at  van  Houten,  he  found  the  man  had  gone.  Had  not 
a  young  man  gone  away  sorrowful,  on  a  previous  occa- 
sion, because  he  was  very  rich?  The  Baptist  made  no 
attempt  to  follow  the  Jew  but  returned  to  his  reading. 
The  sun  mounted  higher  in  the  sky;  the  daily  life  of 
the  ship  went  its  accustomed  course.  Darton  and  the 
funeral  were  forgotten ;  cheerful  voices  floated  through 
the  windows  of  the  saloons;  the  machines  throbbed 
tirelessly.  Perhaps  in  thirty-six  hours  or  less  land 
would  be  sighted  and,  in  thought,  everyone  except  the 
Baptist  was  already  on  shore.     He,  however,  stood 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  85 

in  spirit  on  the  hill  of  Galilee,  the  blue  sea  at  his  feet, 
the  olive  trees  to  left  and  right  and  crouched  before 
him  a  multitude  of  folk.  And  he  taught  them  and 
spoke  to  them  as  follows:  "Blessed  are  the  poor  in 
spirit  for  theirs  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven.  Blessed 
are  they  that  mourn  for  they  shall  be  comforted. 
Blessed  are  the  meek  for  they  shall  inherit  the  earth. 
Blessed  are  they  which  do  hunger  and  thirst  after 
righteousness  for  they  shall  be  filled.  Blessed  are  the 
merciful  for  they  shall  obtain  mercy.  Blessed  are  the 
pure  in  heart  for  they  shall  see  God.  Blessed  are  the 
peacemakers  for  they  shall  be  called  the  children  of 
God.  Blessed  are  they  which  are  persecuted  for  right- 
eousness sake  for  theirs  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven." 

The  playing  of  the  ship's  orchestra  drifted  to  his 
ears.  He  rose,  gathered  his  robe  about  him,  and 
passed  with  long  steps  over  the  deck. 


CHAPTER    XII 

IN  each  of  the  three  classes  of  the  Gigantic  was  a 
notice  board  on  which  announcements  were  posted 
to  attract  the  attention  of  the  passengers.  On 
these  notice  boards  there  now  appeared  the  following 
statement : 

As  a  result  of  circumstances  that  could  not  have  been  fore- 
seen, I  am  compelled  to  alter  the  course  of  the  ship.  The  vessel 
will  not  proceed,  as  intended,  to  Southampton,  but  will  put  in  as 
near  as  possible  to  Brest.  The  company  will  be  responsible  for 
all  expenses  incurred  by  passengers  in  getting  from  that  place  to 
England  or  to  the  port  of  France  to  which  they  would  naturally 
have  proceeded  from  Southampton. 

C.  M.  F,  Hastings  (Captain). 

Purposely  no  explanation  had  been  given  of  this 
sensational  announcement.  The  truth  was  that  a  wire- 
less message  had  been  received  to  the  effect  that  the 
channel  was  too  dangerous  for  the  great  Gigantic  on 
account  of  mines.  The  ship  was  moving  slowly. 
This  fact,  together  with  the  notice  on  the  board,  sent 
a  thrill  of  anxiety  through  the  passengers,  despite  the 
strict  instructions  given  by  the  captain  to  those  few 
who  knew,  that  no  explanation  must  be  made  public. 
In  the  steerage  particularly,  where  a  large  number  of 
young  men  were  desirous  of  getting  to  England  as 
soon  as  possible,  this  sudden  change  of  plan  together 
with  the  inevitable  delay  that  it  caused,  created  irrita- 
tion and  uneasiness.  The  second-class  passengers 
would  have  taken  the  matter  more  calmly  but  for  the 
extraordinary  behavior  of  van  Houten,  who  wandered 
about  the  ship  like  some  evil  spirit  seeking  rest.  He 
asked  everyone  he  met  whether  the  Gigantic  was  carry- 

86 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  3  7 

ing  munitions.  He  discussed  the  probability  of  the 
Germans  sinking  a  liner  and  lost  his  balance  entirely 
after  he  had  read  the  captain's  notice. 

"We  shall  never  get  on  shore,  we  shall  never  get  on 
shore !    The  notice  is  an  omen !" 

Remonstrances  and  arguments  left  him  unmoved. 
He  could  be  seen,  when  he  thought  himself  unobserved, 
taking  out  his  pocketbook  and  stroking  it  as  though 
to  make  sure  that  he  still  had  safe  all  the  money  which 
he  had  brought  for  his  purposes  in  England.  He 
treated  this  pocketbook  as  a  mother  treats  her  child. 
Certainly  the  contents  were  of  great  importance  to 
him,  for  he  had  brought  practically  his  whole  capital 
in  order  to  invest  it  in  the  great  business  scheme  he 
had  evolved.  Thousand  dollar  notes  to  the  number 
of  a  hundred  and  twenty-three  bulged  the  sides  of  this 
precious  pocketbook.  He  began  to  behave  like  a  sleep- 
walker. Obsessed  by  the  idea  that  someone  was  try- 
ing to  steal  his  money,  he  gave  himself  up  entirely  to 
guarding  his  treasure.  He  neither  ate,  drank  nor  slept. 
The  whole  night  long  he  lay  with  open  eyes,  his  hand 
on  his  pocketbook,  which  he  placed  under  the  pillow. 
During  the  daytime  that  same  hand  never  left  the 
breast  pocket  of  his  coat  so  that  he  looked  as  though 
he  was  forever  making  a  solemn  vow,  his  hand  upon 
his  heart. 

On  the  saloon  deck  there  was  no  such  exaggerated 
folly.  Despite  the  fact  that  people  knew  well  they 
were  now  in  the  zone  of  mines  and  submarines,  they 
still  laughed  and  joked.  According  to  the  custom  of 
their  class  they  gave  their  whole  attention  to  keeping 
up  appearances.  Lord  Arthur  Roade,  desperately  anx- 
ious for  his  wife  and  child,  said  not  a  word.  A  young 
millionaire  who  was  crossing  with  his  bride  for  a 
honeymoon  in  England,  permitted  no  sig^  of  worry  to 
disturb  the  half -humorous  love  making  in  which  they 


88  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

had  passed  the  voyage  hitherto.  Mabel  Roade  knelt 
in  her  cabin,  praying  for  her  child;  at  times  she  sat 
writing  in  the  book  a  record  of  the  baby's  development, 
noting  down  every  detail  of  his  smile  and  movement, 
every  indication  of  the  awakening  of  that  still  slumber- 
ing spirit.  Of  Miss  Blossom  nothing  was  seen  or 
heard.  She  had  removed  to  the  saloon  deck  but  hardly 
ever  left  her  cabin.  Her  fellow  travelers  did  not 
worry  themselves  much  about  her,  some  assuming  that 
she  had  not  the  right  clothes  to  mingle  with  the  upper 
ten,  others  that  she  was  traveling  in  order  to  escape 
some  persecutor  and  therefore  kept  herself  out  of  sight. 

The  captain,  naturally  enough^  found  his  cabin 
haunted  by  enquirers.  Everyone  wanted  to  ask  him 
why  the  course  of  the  ship  had  been  altered.  Every- 
one took  the  opportunity  of  explaining  that  he  was  not 
afraid  for  himself  but  for  his  wife,  or  for  his  children 
or  for  the  other  passengers.  Everyone  professed  com- 
plete confidence  in  the  efficiency  and  courage  of  the 
crew.  Everyone  affected  to  treat  the  possibility  of 
mine  and  submarine  as  the  merest  chimera. 

The  captain  treated  each  visitor  with  courtesy  and 
equanimity.  He  assured  them  that  there  was  no  ques- 
tion of  danger,  that  there  would  be  no  difficulty  in  dis- 
embarking at  Brest,  and  that  while  with  the  company, 
he  regretted  the  delay  and  inconvenience  the  arrange- 
ment would  cause  to  the  travelers  for  England,  he  felt 
sure  they  would  recognize  that  the  change  was  made 
out  of  necessity. 

The  Baptist  alone  paid  no  visit  to  the  captain.  Hast- 
ings was  not  sorry,  for,  since  the  strange  speech  made 
over  Barton's  body,  this  uncanny  individual  had  be- 
come oppressive  rather  than  merely  a  subject  for  polite 
amusement.  He  realized  that  this  burial  at  sea  had 
created  a  sensation  throughout  the  whole  ship.  But 
then  how  could  the  captain  have  known  what  this 


THE  SHIP  OF  DEATH  89 

Christian  Scientist  would  have  said  at  the  ceremony, 
how  could  he  have  foretold  that  all  the  passengers  on 
the  Gigantic  would,  so  to  speak,  sit.  at  the  Baptist's 
feet?  Hastings  himself  was  too  much  a  man  of  ac- 
tion. Too  much  of  a  rationalist,  too  downright  a 
sailor,  to  allow  his  mind  to  be  affected  by  what  had 
happerfed.  At  the  same  time  he  was  the  kind  of  man 
to  seek  out  a  disagreeable  encounter  rather  than  to 
avoid  it,  in  order  to  assure  himself  that  there  was  no 
cause  for  worry.  Therefore  he  made  a  point  of  speak- 
ing to  the  Baptist  at  the  first  opportunity.  It  hap- 
pened that,  as  Hastings  sat  at  his  desk  with  the  door 
of  his  cabin  ajar,  studying  the  Admiralty  map  con- 
taining indications  of  the  whereabouts  of  mines,  the 
Baptist  passed  in  the  corridor  without. 

"Mr.  Chatelanard  !'*  called  Hastings. 

The  Baptist  entered  the  cabin. 

"How  is  it  that  you  are  the  only  passenger  who  has 
not  been  to  ask  me  about  the  change  in  the  ship's 
course  ?'* 

"Because,  captain,  whatever  happens  I  shall  reach 
my  destination." 

"Why,  certainly,"  laughed  the  captain.  "And  as  I 
believe  you  are  going  to  France  you  will  probably  get 
there  a  little  earlier  than  you  would  have  done  ordi- 
narily!" 

"I  value  your  assurance,  captain.  But  I  am  doubt- 
ful whether  there  will  really  be  much  difference  in  the 
time  within  which  I  shall  reach  my  appointed  place." 

Hastings  felt  his  uneasiness  returning.  There  was 
something  about  this  individual  which  made  him  un- 
comfortable, against  which  his  nature  sought  to 
struggle.  He  was  not  sorry  to  see  the  Baptist  turn 
to  go.  Another  diversion  was  provided  at  this  mo- 
ment by  the  entrance  of  a  group  of  young  girls  who 
were  traveling  first  class  under  the  captain's  care  and 


90  THE    SHIP    OF   DEATH 

who,  in  consequence,  had  been  nicknamed  "Hastings's 
daughters."  Ranging  between  fourteen  and  sixteen 
years  of  age  they  were  on  their  way  from  Vancouver 
to  finishing  schools  in  England,  and  their  parents,  peo- 
ple of  means  in  Canada,  had  entrusted  them  to  the 
care  of  the  captain.  Violet  Campbell,  the  eldest,  spoke 
for  the  party: 

'We've  found  you  out,  papa  Hastings!"  she  said. 

'Even  if  you  have,"  replied  the  captain  with  a  smile, 
"there  is  no  need  to  push  my  map  off  the  table.  And 
what  is  this  great  discovery  you  have  made?" 

"Poring  over  your  old  map,  looking  for  mines  that 
are  not  there!"  cried  one  of  the  girls,  with  all  the 
carelessness  of  youth. 

"You  leave  the  mines  to  me.  They're  my  business. 
What  is  it  you  have  found  out?" 

"That  it  is  your  majesty's  birthday  to-day,  papa 
Hastings,"  replied  Violet  Campbell,  "Forty-seven 
years  old  to-day,  old  grandfather,  and  you  tried  to  hide 
it  from  us !" 

"And  who  is  the  detective?" 

"It's  not  very  mysterious  really,"  said  the  girl.  "We 
came  on  an  old  year  book  of  the  Steamship  Company 
in  the  library  and  it  had  your  portrait  in  it  and  the 
date  of  your  birth.  So  we  worked  it  out.  Will  you 
promise  us  now?" 

"Promise  you  what?" 

"How  stupid  you  are,  papa  Hastings!  A  birthday 
party  of  course;  just  a  Httle  party  as  the  voyage  is  so 
nearly  over  ..." 

The  captain  shrugged  his  shoulders  good-humoredly. 
"As  you  like,  my  dears,"  he  said,  "and  you  must  each 
of  you  give  me  a  dance  afterwards." 

Full  of  delight,  laughing  and  chattering,  the  children 
ran  away  to  make  preparations  for  the  festivity.  They 
got  over  the  absence  of  flowers  by  coaxing  several 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  91 

sheets  of  colored  paper  out  of  the  head  steward  and 
garlanding  with  these,  torn  into  strips  and  folded 
into  rosettes,  the  captain's  chair  and  the  head  of  the 
table  at  which  he  sat.  When  their  work  was  finished 
tlie  saloon  looked  festive  indeed. 

Dinner-time  arrived  and  the  guests,  in  evening 
clothes,  flocked  into  the  saloon.  It  seemed  that  the 
jewels  shone  more  brightly  that  night  than  usual,  that 
the  band  played  more  brilliantly.  As  the  captain  en- 
tered the  room  a  young  man  called  for  cheers  and 
the  whole  company  joined  in  the  shout.  Even  the 
menu  was  more  superfine  than  usual,  though  on  board 
the  Gigantic  the  food  was  always  of  the  richest.  The 
excitement  of  the  occasion  drove  all  thoughts  of  mines 
and  submarines  out  of  the  heads  of  the  assembly. 
After  the  dinner  had  progressed  for  some  while,  Lord 
Arthur  Roade,  filling  his  glass  with  champagne,  rose 
to  toast  Captain  Hastings,  the  Gigantic  and  the  Steam- 
ship Company. 

Even  as  he  began  to  speak,  the  Baptist  entered  the 
saloon  and,  without  looking  at  anyone,  walked  to  his 
place  and  sat  down.  A  plate  of  fruit  was  standing 
before  him  and  he  ate  an  apple,  an  orange  and  some 
nuts,  appearing  not  to  listen  to  the  congratulatory 
words  of  the  orator.  Lord  Arthur  sat  down,  the  toast 
having  been  drunk  with  acclamation.  Laughter  and 
conversation  broke  out  from  all  sides ;  the  band  struck 
up  the  famous  quartette  from  the  Mikado: 

The  flowers  that  bloom  in  the  spring,  tra-la. 
Have  nothing  to  do  with  the  case! 

At  this  moment  there  came  a  violent  jar.  Glasses, 
bottles,  plates,  knives  and  forks  seemed  to  spring  from 
the  tables.  The  great  ship  trembled  like  an  animal 
mortally  wounded.  The  engines  came  to  a  sudden 
halt.     Everyone  went  very  pale,  but  not  a  word  was 


92  THE   SHIP  OF  DEATH 

spoken.  There  was  only  one  thotight  in  every  head, 
"We  have  struck  a  mine !" 

The  ship  lay  motionless  and  everyone  waited,  waited 
for  the  inevitable  explosion  which  should  break  the 
Gigantic  into  two  pieces.  All  eyes  were  turned  to  the 
captain,  as  though  he  alone  could  save  them.  Sud- 
denly the  Baptist  rose : 

"Do  not  fear,"  he  said.  "It  is  nothing;  only  an 
accident  in  the  engine-room.    The  ship  will  not  sink.'* 

Everyone  turned  to  look  at  the  speaker,  some  in 
amazement,  some  with  dawning  hope,  some  in  blind 
faith.    And  the  Baptist  repeated: 

"Be  calm!  It  is  nothing.  My  ship  cannot  be 
sunk." 

Moments  passed.  Nothing  happened.  The  Gigan- 
tic lay  motionless. 

During  the  few  moments  of  the  Baptist's  interrup- 
tion, the  captain  had  been  listening  anxiously  at  the 
telephone  which  stood  behind  his  chair.  He  now 
turned  and  addressed  the  room : 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,  I  am  happy  to  be  able  to  tell 
you  that  the  mishap  is  not  so  very  serious.  The  main 
shaft  of  one  of  the  engines  has  broken  in  half.  It  ap- 
pears that  the  chief  mate,  who  was  on  the  lookout,  dis- 
cerned, as  though  by  a  miracle,  a  floating  mine  about 
three  hundred  yards  from  the  vessel.  He  instantly 
passed  the  word  to  stop  the  engines  and  the  sudden  jar 
caused  the  mishap.  I  hope  we  shall  be  able  to  repair 
the  damage  in  a  few  hours.  If  not,  we  shall  have  to 
progress  as  best  we  can  with  one  engine.  If  you  will 
now  excuse  me,  I  will  go  and  see  that  everything  pos- 
sible is  done." 

He  left  the  room.  The  band  struck  up  once  more, 
but  the  music  had  lost  the  sparkle  of  the  earlier  part 
of  the  evening.  As  the  stewards  handed  round  des- 
sert, the  Baptist  vanished  silently  from  the  saloon. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

THE  captain  hurried  to  the  engine-room  and  after 
investigation  of  the  damage  found  that  by  good 
fortune  there  was  a  reserve  shaft  on  board. 
This  shaft  could  be  fixed  after  a  few  hours'  work  and 
thus  render  the  engine  once  more  serviceable.  Hast- 
ings faced,  as  best  he  might,  the  anxiety  of  having  to 
lie  motionless  for  several  hours  amid  the  threat  of 
mines  and  submarines. 

In  the  meantime  the  confusion  and  excitement  which 
the  accident  had  caused  throughout  the  ship  began  to 
die  down.  The  steerage  particularly  had  at  first  been 
in  a  state  almost  of  panic.  When,  however,  it  was 
clear  that  although  the  Gigantic  was  standing  still,  she 
was  not  going  to  blow  up  or  sink,  a  certain  amount 
of  self-control  re-established  itself. 

When  the  Baptist  left  the  dining  saloon  and  was 
walking  absorbed  in  thought  through  the  corridor,  now 
full  of  hurrying  and  anxious  figures,  he  found  him- 
self suddenly  face  to  face  with  Miss  Blossom.  The 
girl  had  rushed  from  her  cabin  and  now,  seeing  the 
Baptist  before  her,  shrank  back  as  pale  and  speechless 
as  if  she  had  seen  a  ghost. 

*Mr.  Chatelanard !"  she  gasped. 

*Do  not  be  afraid  of  me  now.  Miss  Blossom.  I 
knew  that  I  should  find  you  again.'* 

She  trembled. 

"There  is  nothing  to  be  frightened  of,"  he  assured 
her,  "we  shall  not  sink,  for,  as  it  is  written,  until  the 
end  of  the  world  I  am  with  you." 

He  took  the  girl's  hand  but  she  snatched  it  away 
from  him. 

93 


"1 


94  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

"Do  not  touch  me,  please !"  sHe  said  with  a  shudder. 
"Even  in  that  garb  I  know  you.  Immediately  I  moved 
on  to  the  saloon  deck  I  recognized  you  and  I  was 
afraid.  For  I  have  not  forgotten  what  happened  in 
your  mother's  house  in  St.  Louis." 

The  Baptist's  eyes  were  full  of  pain. 

"Indeed  you  are  mistaken,  Miss  Blossom,"  he  said 
earnestly.  "I  am  no  longer  the  man  I  once  was ;  such  a 
man  shall  I  never  be  again.    For  I  have  been  bom 


anew." 


She  shook  her  head. 

"I  do  not  believe  you,"  she  said. 

"And  everyone  that  receiveth  me  ..."  he  broke 
off.    "I  should  like  to  talk  to  you  a  little." 

Without  a  word  she  followed  him  into  that  saloon 
in  which  he  had  previously  conversed  with  Lord  Ar- 
thur Roade.  She  sat  down  but  he  paced  the  room  and, 
as  she  watched  him,  she  felt  something  of  the  uncanny 
influence  which  his  personality  exerted  over  others. 
As  he  made  no  effort  to  speak,  she  broke  the  silence : 

"So  it  was  you  who  had  me  transferred  from  the 
steerage  to  first  class  1  All  that  talk  about  a  charitable 
lady!    It  was  not  worthy  of  you,  Mr.  Chatelanard !" 

"I  have  no  idea  who  it  was  who  brought  you  from 
the  steerage  to  the  first  class.  I  know  nothing  of  any 
story  of  a  benevolent  lady.  I  did  not  even  know  till 
five  minutes  ago  that  you  were  on  board.  I  only  knew 
that  some  time  in  my  life  I  should  meet  you  again,  so 
that  I  might  try  to  make  up  to  you  the  wrong  I  once 
tried  to  do." 

"You  have  assurance,  to  talk  like  that,  after  what 
happened  in  St.  Louis!  I  suppose  that  is  why  you 
have  put  an  end  to  my  chances  of  getting  that  good 
position  in  England,  that  is  why  the  man  died  whom 
I  trusted,  and  who  was  helping  me  to  the  employment !" 

"Whatman?" 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  95 


"1 


'You  know  perfectly  well — Darton." 

*Darton !  He  had  promised  you  a  position  in  Eng- 
land. .  .  .  He  was  bringing  you  over.  .  .  .  You? 
And  I  wrestled  with  him  and  conquered  him." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

But  the  Baptist  did  not  reply.  With  bowed  head 
he  stood  thinking  deeply,  and  it  was  as  though  a  great 
struggle  raged  in  his  breast.    At  last  he  spoke : 

"The  night  that  Darton  died,  Miss  Blossom,  I  could 
not  sleep.  I  could  not  even  close  my  eyes.  Outside 
raged  the  storm  and  I  was  sitting — it  was  half  an  hour 
before  midnight — ^reading  in  my  book.  I  opened  it  at 
hazard  and  read  as  follows :  'And  I  saw  an  angel  come 
down  from  heaven,  having  the  key  of  the  bottomless 
pit,  and  a  great  chain  in  his  hand.  And  he  laid  hold 
on  the  dragon,  that  old  serpent,  which  is  the  Devil 
and  Satan,  and  bound  him,  a  thousand  years,  and  cast 
him  into  the  bottomless  pit,  and  shut  him  up  and  set 
a  seal  upon  him,  that  he  should  deceive  the  nations  no 
more  till  the  thousand  years  should  be  fulfilled;  and 
after  that  he  must  be  loosed  a  little  season.'  That  is 
why  Darton  died." 

Miss  Blossom  gazed  at  the  speaker  in  horrified 
amazement  Was  he  mad?  Had  something  terrible 
happened  and  turned  his  mind  ?  She  had  heard  gossip 
that  there  was  a  man  among  the  passengers  who  was 
thought  to  be  a  lunatic ;  was  this  he  ?  She  answered 
therefore  in  that  vaguely  benevolent  tone  often  em- 
ployed with  the  idea  of  soothing  the  sick : 

"Very  likely,  Mr.  Chatelanard,  but  I  am  afraid  I  do 
not  quite  follow  you.  What  you  read  in  your  book 
is  above  my  head.     I  do  not  understand  it" 

"You  do  not  understand  it,  Miss  Blossom,  but 
nevertheless  the  hour  of  judgment  is  at  hand." 

"You  mean  the  war?" 

"I  do.     The  world's  hour  of  judgment     Verily  I 


g6  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

say  unto  you,  to-day  shalt  thou  be  with  me  in  para- 
dise." 

She  smiled,  half  in  pity,  half  in  contempt.  He 
noticed  this  and  his  next  remark  was  full  of  emotion. 

"Either  you  cannot  understand  me.  Miss  Blossom, 
or  you  do  not  want  to.  And  yet,  observe  this  ship. 
I  say  unto  you  not  one  plank  shall  remain  upon  an- 
other, not  one  steel  plate  rivetted  to  another." 

"What  are  you  saying?  You  are  foretelling  the 
destruction  of  the  Gigantic!'* 

"I  do  not  prophesy,  Miss  Blossom,  I  only  say  those 
words  which  are  put  into  my  mouth  for  such  a  time 
as  this." 

"What  words?" 

And  once  again  she  felt  the  subtle  force  of  his  per- 
sonality which,  however  desperately  she  struggled  to 
throw  it  off,  threatened  to  overcome  her. 

Realizing  this,  he  made  one  more  attempt  to  win 
her,  and  spoke  as  follows: 

"Take  heed  that  no  man  deceive  you.  For  many 
shall  come  in  my  name,  saying,  I  am  Christ;  and  shall 
deceive  many.  And  ye  shall  hear  of  wars  and  rumors 
of  wars.  See  that  ye  be  not  troubled;  for  all  these 
things  must  come  to  pass ;  but  the  end  is  not  yet.  For 
nation  shall  rise  ag^ainst  nation,  and  kingdom  against 
kingdom;  and  there  shall  be  famines  and  pestilences 
and  earthquakes,  in  divers  places.  All  these  are  the 
beginning  of  sorrows. 

"Then  shall  they  deliver  you  up  to  be  afflicted,  and 
shall  kill  you;  and  ye  shall  be  hated  of  all  nations  for 
my  name's  sake.  And  then  shall  many  be  offended,  and 
shall  betray  one  another,  and  shall  hate  one  another. 
And  many  false  prophets  shall  rise,  and  shall  deceive 
many.  And  because  iniquity  shall  abound  the  love  of 
many  shall  wax  cold.  But  he  that  shall  endure  to  the 
end,  the  same  shall  be  saved.    And  this  gospel  of  the 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  97 

kingdom  shall  be  preached  in  all  the  world  for  a  wit- 
ness unto  all  nations ;  and  then  shall  the  end  come. 

"When  ye  therefore  shall  see  the  abomination  of 
desolation,  spoken  of  by  Daniel  the  prophet,  stand  in 
the  holy  place  (whoso  readeth,  let  him  understand:) 
then  let  them  which  be  in  Judea  flee  into  the  mountains : 
let  him  which  is  on  the  housetop  not  come  down  to  take 
anything  out  of  his  house ;  neither  let  him  which  is  in 
the  field  return  back  to  take  his  clothes. 

"And  woe  unto  them  that  are  with  child  and  to  them 
that  give  suck,  in  those  days !  But  pray  ye  that  your 
flight  be  not  in  the  winter,  neither  on  the  Sabbath  day. 
For  then  shall  be  great  tribulation,  such  as  was  not 
since  the  beginning  of  the  word  to  this  time,  no,  nor 
ever  shall  be.  And  except  those  days  should  be  short- 
ened, there  should  no  flesh  be  saved ;  but  for  the  elect's 
sake  those  days  shall  be  shortened. 

"Then  if  any  man  shall  say  unto  you,  Lo!  Here  is 
Christ,  or  There !  believe  it  not.  For  there  shall  arise 
false  Christs,  and  false  prophets,  and  shall  show  great 
signs  and  wonders ;  insomuch  that,  if  it  were  possible, 
they  shall  deceive  the  very  elect.  Behold,  I  have  told 
you  before.  Wherefore  if  they  shall  say  unto  you, 
Behold,  he  is  in  the  desert;  go  not  forth;  Behold,  he  is 
in  the  secret  chambers;  believe  it  not.  For  as  the 
lightning  cometh  out  of  the  east  and  shineth  even 
unto  the  west,  so  shall  also  the  coming  of  the  Son  of 
man  be.  For  wheresoever  the  carcase  is,  there  will 
the  eagles  be  gathered  together. 

"Immediately  after  the  tribulation  of  those  days 
shall  the  sun  be  darkened,  and  the  moon  shall  not  give 
her  light,  and  the  stars  shall  fall  from  heaven,  and  the 
powers  of  the  heavens  shall  be  shaken.  And  then 
shall  appear  the  Sign  of  the  Son  of  man  in  heaven; 
and  then  shall  all  the  tribes  of  the  earth  mourn;  and 
they  shall  see  the  Son  of  man  coming  in  the  clouds  of 


98  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

heaven,  with  power  and  great  glory.  And  he  shall 
send  his  angels  with  a  great  sound  of  a  trumpet,  and 
they  shall  gather  together  his  elect  from  the  four  winds, 
from  one  end  of  heaven  to  the  other. 

"Now  learn  a  parable  of  the  fig  tree.  When  his 
branch  is  yet  tender,  and  putteth  forth  leaves,  ye  know 
that  summer  is  nigh;  so  likewise  ye,  when  ye  shall 
see  all  these  things,  know  that  it  is  ne^r,  even  at  the 
doors.  Verily  I  say  unto  you,  this  generation  shall 
not  pass,  till  all  these  things  be  fulfilled.  Heaven 
and  earth  shall  pass  away,  but  my  words  shall  not  pass 
away. 

"But  of  that  day  and  hour  knoweth  no  man,  no,  not 
the  angels  of  heaven,  but  my  Father  only.  But  as 
the  days  of  Noe  were,  so  shall  also  the  coming  of  the 
Son  of  man  be.  For  as  in  the  days  that  were  before 
the  flood  they  were  eating  and  drinking,  marrying  and 
giving  in  marriage,  until  the  day  that  Noe  entered  into 
tiie  ark,  and  knew  not  until  the  flood  came  and  took 
them  all  away;  so  shall  also  the  coming  of  the  Son 
of  man  be.  Then  shall  two  be  in  the  field;  the  one 
shall  be  taken  and  the  other  left.  Two  women  shall 
be  grinding  at  the  mill ;  the  one  shall  be  taken  and  the 
other  left. 

"Watch  therefore ;  for  ye  know  not  what  hour  your 
Lord  doth  come.  But  know  this,  that  if  the  good  man 
of  the  house  had  known  in  what  watch  the  thief  would 
come,  he  would  have  watched,  and  would  not  have 
suflFered  his  house  to  be  broken  up.  Therefore  be  ye 
also  ready;  for  in  such  an  hour  as  ye  think  not  the 
Son  of  man  cometh. 

"Who  then  is  a  faithful  and  wise  servant  whom  his 
lord  hath  made  ruler  over  his  household,  to  give  them 
meat  in  due  season?  Blessed  is  that  servant  whom 
his  lord  when  he  cometh  shall  find  so  doing.  Verily 
I  say  unto  you,  that  he  shall  make  him  ruler  over  all 


THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH  99 

his  goods.  But  and  if  that  evil  servant  shall  say  in 
his  heart,  My  lord  delayeth  his  coming;  and  shall  be- 
gin to  smite  his  fellow-servant,  and  eat  and  drink  with 
the  drunken;  the  lord  of  that  servant  shall  come  in 
a  day  when  he  looketh  not  for  him,  and  in  an  hour 
that  he  is  not  aware  of,  and  shall  cut  him  asimder,  and 
appoint  him  his  portion  with  the  h)npocrites;  there 
shall  be  weeping  and  gnashing  of  teeth." 

As  he  finished  speaking,  the  Baptist  raised  his  eyes. 
He  was  alone.  Silently  and  like  van  Houten,  Miss 
Blossom  had  crept  away.  She  had  not  understood 
him,  because  she  had  not  trusted  him.  He  looked  for 
her  no  more.  He  rose  and  walked  down  from  the 
first-class  to  the  steerage  deck.  Here  he  found  crowds 
standing  about,  men,  women  and  children,  old  and 
young.  The  alarm  caused  by  the  evening's  accident 
was  partially  but  not  wholly  allayed,  and  no  one  had 
sought  his  berth.  With  a  vague  idea  of  being  ready 
to  get  places  in  the  boats,  they  camped  about  all  over 
the  deck,  mothers  with  children  in  their  arms,  families 
surrounded  by  their  few  precious  belongings. 

Among  the  crowd  was  Madame  Chapuisat  with  her 
children  about  her  skirts.  Little  Gaston,  catching 
sight  of  the  Baptist,  tugged  at  his  mother's  arm. 

"Look,  mamma!  That  is  the  man  who  lifted 
Louison  off  the  railing  of  the  coal  shaft !" 

The  poor  woman,  hearing  this,  fell  on  her  knees 
before  the  Baptist  and  kissed  the  hem  of  his  robe.  He 
raised  her  up  and  then,  taking  Louison  on  his  knees, 
sat  down  by  the  mother's  side. 

Hardly  had  he  done  so  when  a  commotion  was  vis- 
ible among  the  crowd  collected  near  the  entrance  to 
the  steerage  cabin.  Excited  talking  and  shouts  in- 
dicated that  some  new  notice  had  been  placed  on  the 
notice  board.  A  young  man  hurrying  by  threw  over 
his  shoulder  a  laconic  statement  to  the  effect  that  the 


lOO  THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH 

^—      '        ■■■■■■■l«  I     ■-!  I  ■--  !■■■         ■■■■■  ■  I  II  .11  ■  ■—..-■».  I,  ^^■^—11       in         ■     ...^ 

Gigantic  would  not  sail  to  Brest  after  all,  but  to  Liver- 
pool. Madame  Chapuisat  leaped  to  her  feet  and, 
leaving  the  Baptist  with  the  child  on  his  knee,  hurried 
to  see  for  herself  what  had  occurred.  She  returned 
in  a  moment,  her  eyes  full  of  tears,  restraining  her 
sobs  with  difficulty.  In  reply  to  the  Baptist's  ques- 
tioning look,  she  explained  somewhat  incoherently  the 
purpose  of  her  journey  to  France,  how  joyful  she  had 
been  when  first  the  change  was  made  from  Southamp- 
ton to  Brest  and  how  now,  without  a  word  of  explana- 
tion, the  Gigantic  would  turn  backwards  and,  after 
calling  at  Queenstown,  go  to  Liverpool. 

"What  shall  I  do?"  she  wailed.  "It  will  take  me 
days  to  get  to  France  from  Liverpool!  And  all  the 
while  my  husband  may  be  dying!" 

"We  will  go  to  France  together,"  said  the  Baptist 
soothingly,  "and  there  shall  be  no  delay.  I  will  help 
you  find  your  husband,  Madame  Chapuisat." 

And  she  believed  him. 

"What  are  you  thinking  about?"  he  asked  her  as 
she  sat  in  silence. 

"Of  a  Bible  story,  sir." 

"And  which  one  ?" 

"The  story  of  the  woman,"  replied  Madame  Chapui- 
sat, "who  cried  after  Jesus :  Have  pity  on  me,  thou  son 
of  David!" 

"And  what  did  he  reply?" 

"He  answered  no  word." 

"And  then  what  happened?" 

"His  disciples  came  up  and  urged  him  to  send  her 
away  because  she  cried  after  them." 

"And  what  did  he  do,  Madame  Chapuisat?" 

"He  turned  away  from  the  poor  woman,  sir>  saying : 
I  am  not  sent  but  unto  the  lost  sheep  of  the  house  of 
Israel.     For  she  was  a  Canaanite." 

"What  did  the  woman  reply?" 


THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH  loi 

^1      ■  ■      I.  M  I  I      ■ii.nM    ■■■I Ill  I  I  iMii     ■!  ^*\mm,*u     I      .  .1      nil  II       I  ■■■■I      I        ■!■  .11    I   ■■■  ■     I  I  ■■  ■         ■      I     1.1  I 

"She  fell  on  her  knees  before  him,  sir,  and  said : 
Lord,  help  me !  But  he  answered  and  said :  It  is  not 
meet  to  take  the  children's  bread  and  to  cast  it  to  dogs. 
And  she  said :  Truth,  Lord.  Yet  the  dogs  eat  of  the 
crumbs  which  fall  from  their  master's  table.  Then 
Jesus  answered  and  said  unto  her :  O  woman,  great  is 
thy  faith ;  be  it  unto  thee  even  as  thou  wilt." 

"Yes,"  replied  the  Baptist,  "indeed  your  faith  is 
great,  Madame  Chapuisat,  and  it  shall  be  to  you  as 
you  desire.  Together  we  will  go  to  France  and  find 
your  husband.  There  was  one  oth^  thing  that  Jesus 
said.  ..." 

'What  was  that,  sir?" 

'Verily,  verily,  I  say  unto  you  such  faith  have  I  not 
found,  no,  not  in  Israel." 

During  their  conversation,  quite  a  crowd  of  steer- 
age passengers  had  gathered  round  the  Baptist,  as  he 
sat  by  the  French  woman's  side.  Some  were  sitting 
at  his  feet,  others  collected  in  a  circle  round  about 
him.  He  read  in  their  eyes  at  once  fear  of  death  and 
a  thirst  for  his  teaching;  wherefore  he  looked  round 
at  them  and  spoke  as  follows : 

"A  sower  went  out  to  sow  his  seed ;  and  as  he  sowed, 
some  fell  by  the  wayside;  and  it  was  trodden  down, 
and  the  fowls  of  the  air  devoured  it.  And  some  fell 
upon  a  rock ;  and  as  soon  as  it  was  sprung  up,  it  with- 
ered away,  because  it  lacked  moisture.  And  some  fell 
among  thorns ;  and  the  thorns  sprang  up  with  it  and 
choked  it.  And  other  fell  on  good  ground,  and  sprang 
up,  and  bare  fruit  an  hundredfold. 

"Unto  you  it  is  given  to  know  the  mysteries  of  the 
kingdom  of  God ;  but  to  others  in  parables ;  that  'seeing 
they  might  not  see,  and  hearing  they  might  not  imder- 
stand.'  Now  the  parable  is  this :  The  seed  is  the  word 
of  God.  Those  by  the  wayside  are  they  that  hear; 
then  cometh  the  devil,  and  taketh  away  the  word  out 


I02  THE    SHIP   OF   DEATH 

of  their  hearts,  lest  they  should  believe  and  be  saved. 
They  on  the  rock  are  they  which,  when  they  hear,  re- 
•ceive  the  word  with  joy ;  and  these  have  no  root,  which 
for  a  while  believe,  and  in  time  of  temptation  fall  away. 
And  that  which  fell  among  thorns  are  they  which, 
when  they  have  heard,  go  forth  and  are  choked  with 
cares  and  riches  and  pleasures  of  this  life,  and  bring 
no  fruit  to  perfection.  But  that  on  the  good  ground 
are  they  which,  in  an  honest  and  good  heart,  having 
heard  the  word,  keep  it,  and  bring  forth  fruit  with 
patience." 

And  suddenly  the  sun  rose  out  of  the  sea,  lighting 
the  Baptist's  hair  to  gold.  The  multitude  gazed  at  it 
in  amazement  as  though  they  could  not  tell  when  or 
whither  the  night  had  fled. 


CHAPTER   XIV 

AT  the  same  time  as  he  received  the  second  wire* 
less  message  advising  him  that  the  danger  of 
mines  in  the  channel  was  so  great  as  to  render 
it  imperative  for  the  Gigantic  to  change  her  course 
once  again  and  sail  to  Liverpool,  Captain  Hastings 
was  given  to  understand  that,  before  he  turned  the 
liner  northwards,  a  tug  would  put  out  frc«n  Brest 
in  order  to  take  on  shore  the  French  mails.  Standing 
on  the  bridge  he  now  saw  a  black  speck  in  the  dis- 
tance, which,  as  it  approached,  showed  itself  to  be 
the  tug  in  question.  Befpre  very  long  the  little 
steamer,  which  looked  like  a  cockle-shell  beside  the 
vast  bulk  of  the  Gigantic,  was  lying  alongside  and 
preparations  were  made  to  help  on  board  the  officer, 
the  post-office  official  and  one  or  two  French  sailors. 
Hastings  received  the  first  two  in  his  cabin  and  con- 
sulted with  them  privately  about  conditions  in  the 
channel. 

"A  smaller  boat  than  yours  might  risk  it,"  said  the 
French  officer,  "but  it  would  be  madness  to  take  the 
Gigantic  even  nearer  than  this  to  the  French  coast. 
How  comes  it  that  you  have  been  standing  still  so 
long?" 

While  the  mail  bags  were  being  prepared  for  re- 
moval to  France,  the  captain  explained  the  mishap 
to  the  engines,  and  paid  a  tribute  to  Jan  van  der 
Linden's  extraordinary  quickness  in  detecting  the 
mine. 

"What's  the  general  opinion  in  Brest  now  about  the 
submarine?"  he  asked. 

The  Frenchman  shrugged:  "We  don't  worry  very 

X03 


I04  THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH 

r  ■"■  ■ ■■■  ■      '■"     ■        ..-.I     ■— ■       ...     .-1...        ■■!     —I..—    .      .  I.  I    —■       —  ■        1 1^ 

much  about  them,"  he  repHed — "not  at  least  as  a 
danger  to  Hners.  They  are  complicating  troop-trans- 
port and  merchant  shipping,  but  great  steamers  car- 
rying neutral  passengers  ...   !" 

It  was  announced  that  the  French  mails  were  al- 
ready on  board  the  tug.  The  visitors  prepared  to 
leave.  As  the  captain  was  passing  with  them  out 
of  his  cabin  he  encountered  the  Baptist  and,  behind 
him,  Madame  Chapuisat  and  her  children. 

*T  have  a  favor  to  ask  you,  captain." 

Hastings  saluted,  half-humorously. 

"Would  it  be  possible  for  me  with  this  woman  and 
her  children  to  go  to  France  on  board  the  tug?" 

The  captain's  instinct  was  to  rule  this  proposal  out 
as  contrary  to  all  precedent  and  therefore  as  impos- 
sible. The  next  moment,  however,  he  remembered  the 
Baptist's  strange  certainty  that  he  would  reach  France 
without  delay,  and  there  came  over  him,  more  strongly 
:than  eyer,  the  feeling  of  antagonism  toward  this 
curious  passenger.  He  was  as  loyal  a  servant  to  the 
traditions  of  his  calling  as  any  other,  but,  after  all, 
it  was  war-time  and  a  practical  man  turns  chance  to 
the  best  account  possible.  He  considered  a  moment 
and  then  replied : 

"I  should  have  no  objection,  Mr.  Chatelanard,  but 
it  really  depends  on  the  French  officer  in  charge  of 
the  tug  ..." 

And  with  his  eyes  he,  so  to  speak,  introduced  the 
Baptist  to  the  Frenchman,  who  was  standing  impa- 
tiently by. 

"May  I  ask  of  you  this  great  favor?'*  said  the  Bap- 
tist to  the  French  officer.  "I  will  pay  your  men  hand- 
somely if  you  will  take  the  handful  of  us  as  pas- 
sengers ;  it  is  essential  to  this  poor  woman's  happiness 
that  she  should  so  soon  as  possible  start  searching  for 
her  husband  who  is  reported  missing  at  the  front." 


THE   SHIP  OF  DEATH  105 

Certainly  not  the  promise  of  money,  probably  not 
even  the  piteous  look  thrown  to  him  by  Madame 
Chapuisat,  but  rather  the  compelling  beauty  of  the 
Baptist's  voice  and  look,  induced  the  Frenchman  to 
give  a  curt  but  polite  assent. 

"We  cannot  wait,  you  understand,"  he  said,  "but 
if  you  are  ready  to  come  immediately  I  am  willing 
to  make  the  excepfion  and  take  you." 

A  few  moments  only  were  necessary  for  the  chief 
steward  to  put  in  order  the  landing  papers  of  the 
passengers  who  were  so  unconventionally  going  ashore 
before  the  Gigantic* s  voyage  was  really  over.  As 
Madame  Chapuisat  and  the  children  were  preparing 
to  descend  into  the  tug  the  Baptist  held  out  his  hand 
to  the  captain. 

"Good-bye,  sir,"  he  said,  "and  thank  you !" 

Then,  picking  up  the  little  Louison,  he  descended 
the  almost  perpendicular  ladder  down  the  cliff-like 
side  of  the  Gigantic  with  as  little  awkwardness  or  ap- 
parent precaution  as  though  he  were  walking  along 
a  high  road.  No  time  was  lost,  once  they  were  on 
board,  and  in  a  minute  or  two  the  tug  moved  slowly 
away  from  the  liner's  side.  The  Baptist  stood  there, 
the  little  child  on  his  arm,  the  sun  once  more  lighting 
his  hair  into  the  semblance  of  a  halo. 

Lord  Arthur  Roade  came  hurrying  to  the  captain's 
side. 

"I  cannot  find  my  wife,  captain.  Have  you  seen 
her  anywhere?" 

Hastings  had  hardly  time  to  shake  his  head  be- 
fore the  voice  of  Lady  Mabel  struck  on  the  ears  of 
the  two  men.  She  seemed  to  be  calling  from  some 
other  world. 

"Let  me  go,  nurse!    Let  me  go!" 

Lord  Arthur  and  the  captain  turned  to  see  the  young 
woman,  with  pale  and  agonized  features,  hurrying  to 


io6  THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH 

the  side  of  the  ship.  She  paid  no  attention  to  her 
husband  as  he  stepped  forward  with  an  anxious  ques- 
tion on  his  lips.  She  shaded  her  eyes  with  her  hand 
and  gazed  out  over  the  Atlantic. 

"He  is  leaving  us,  he  is  leaving  us !"  she  moaned. 

"Who?" 

"The  Master!" 

Neither  Lord  Arthur  nor  the  captain  could  find 
words  to  reply.  They  now  saw  to  their  amazement 
that  not  only  Lady  Mabel  but  crowds  from  the  steer- 
age and  the  second  class,  men,  women  and  children, 
sailors  and  stokers,  van  Houten,  Pitt,  Miss  Blossom, 
the  doctor,  the  cook,  stewards  and  stewardesses,  were 
all  gazing  as  though  entranced  at  the  now  vanishing 
tug  skimming  over  the  shining  surface  of  the  sea. 
In  a  moment  or  two  the  figure  of  the  Baptist,  stand- 
ing with  the  child  in  his  arms,  faded  into  the  mist 
of  distance  and,  as  he  vanished.  Lady  Mabel  cried  as 
though  in  prayer: 

"Lord,  forsake  us  not;  for  the  night  draweth 
on  .  .  .   !" 

Lord  Arthur  supported  his  wife  back  to  her  cabin 
once  more.    Then  he  rejoined  the  captain. 

"What  kind  of  a  fellow  was  that  Chatelanard  ?"  he 
asked. 

"No  kind  I  ever  met  before,"  replied  the  captain, 
"and  to  be  quite  frank  with  you,  I  am  not  at  all  sorry 
to  have  found  this  way  of  getting  rid  of  him.  He 
was  setting  the  whole  ship  by  the  ears  and  there's  no 
room  for  that  kind  of  person  in  these  stirring  times." 

"No — you  are  right,"  returned  Lord  Arthur,  "in 
times  like  these  there  is  no  room  for  such  a  man." 

The  captain  continued: 

"I  was  a  fool  to  ask  him  to  officiate  at  Barton's 
funeral.  The  whole  thing  started  from  that.  If  I'd 
had  any  idea  of  how  he  would  behave,  I  should  never 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  107 

have  dreamed  of  suggesting  anything  of  the  kind. 
At  least  before  that  he  left  people  alone  and  they  left 
him  alone !    Thank  God  we're  rid  of  him !" 
'You  are  rid  of  him,  captain,  but  I  .  .  ." 

'Why  not  you  as  well?" 

'All  my  peace  of  mind  has  vanished,  captain.  It 
so  happened  that  early  on  the  voyage  I  made  this 
man's  acquaintance  and  he  made  a  very  strange  im- 
pression on  me.  So  strange  that  I  spared  no  effort 
to  prevent  his  meeting  my  wife.  I  thought  I  had 
succeeded,  but  now,  judging  by  what  has  just  hap- 
pened, all  my  trouble  has  been  in  vain." 

"Surely  you  are  unduly  pessimistic.  Lord  Arthur? 
I  understand  from  the  doctor  that  Lady  Roade  is 
slightly  overwrought,  a  little  nervous,  nothing  un- 
usual. .  .  .  Once  safely  on  shore,  everything  will  be 
forgotten  in  a  day  or  two !" 

"Ah,  yes!  .  .  .  Once  safely  on  shore  .  .  .*' 

The  captain  murmured  some  words  of  reassurance. 
Of  course  the  voyage  to  Liverpool  would  take  a  little 
longer  but  really  there  was  now  no  danger  what- 
ever. .  .  .  Even  to  himself  his  words  were  not  very 
convincing. 

The  other  was  hardly  listening.  When  the  captain 
stopped  speaking  he  broke  out : 

"I  can't  get  out  of  my  head  that  extraordinary 
business  about  the  mine  seen  at  three  hundred  yards. 
It  was  a  miracle !  And  then  all  the  time  I  was  speak- 
ing at  your  birthday  dinner,  I  felt  that  man's  eyes 
resting  on  me,  full  of  a  most  disturbing  pity.  For 
it  was  a  miracle,  don't  you  think  so  ?" 

"I  don't  believe  in  miracles  myself,"  replied  the 
captain,  "I  prefer  to  regard  the  matter  as  a  piece  of 
extraordinary  good  luck  and  as  proof  of  van  der 
Linden's  sharp  eyes  and  seamanship." 

"I  have  every  respect  for  the  chief  mate's  skill. 


io8  THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH 

captain,"  replied  Lord  Arthur,  "but  I  am  not  convinced 
that  in  darkness  and  mist  any  human  being  could  have 
detected  that  mine,  if  it  had  not  been  revealed  to  him 
from  above.  ...  Of  course,  you  think  me  crazy,"  he 
went  on,  seeing  the  captain's  look  of  pained  astonish- 
ment; "laugh  at  me  as  much  as  you  like;  I  only  hope 
you  are  right.  But,  as  I  say,  I  am  not  convinced. 
Even  less  so  since  I  read  this  paper  which  I  found 
in  my  wife's  cabin,  just  before  I  first  asked  you  where 
she  was.  The  paper  was  crumpled  up  and  thrown  on 
the  floor.  I  do  not  pretend  to  know  what  it  is  sup- 
posed to  be,  and  as  you  see,  the  writing  is  so  smudged 
as  to  make  it  nearly  illegible. 

Hastings  took  the  paper  and  deciphered  with  some 
difficulty  the  following  lines,  written  in  ink,  but  badly 
blurred  and  spotted : 

And  I  seem  to  hear  a  great  voice  calling. 
As  I  kneel  upon  the  icy  temple  stairs : 
Hail  to  him,  the  Comforter ! 
Think  upon  these  words  in  your  distresses ! 
Hear  them  sound  above  the  battle  clamor! 
Hail  to  him,  the  Comforter! 

Lord  Arthur  repeated  the  last  words  in  a  low  voice. 
Then  he  and  the  captain  looked  at  each  other  a  mo- 
ment, shook  hands  in  silence  and  parted. 


CHAPTER   XV 

IT  was  shortly  after  lunch.  Since  midnight  the 
Gigantic  had  once  more  been  on  the  move.  She 
had  left  the  southwest  comer  of  England  well 
to  eastward  and  was  now  traveling  northwards  at 
full  speed.  A  general  feeling  pervaded  the  ship  that 
land  was  not  far  away.  In  the  dining  saloon  of  the 
first  class  the  passengers  still  lingered  over  their  coffee 
and  liqueurs.  There  were  some  who  became  half- 
humorously  sentimental  over  the  possibility  of  this 
being  the  last  meal  which  their  company  would  take 
together.  There  was  little  doubt  that  by  evening  the 
boat  would  make  Queenstown  and  a  large  number 
of  the  travelers,  glad  to  take  to  the  shore  as  soon  as 
possible,  would  leave  the  Gigantic  and  travel  to  Lon- 
don by  rail  via  Dublin  and  Holyhead,  substituting  the 
brief  Irish  Channel  crossing  for  the  voyage  to  Liver- 
pool on  board  the  liner.  Lord  Arthur  Roade  was 
talking  to  the  young  millionaire  and  his  bride.  Light- 
ing a  large  cigar  and  raising  his  cognac,  the  millionaire 
remarked : 

"Well,  here's  to  your  health,  Roade,  and  to  yours 
also,  my  dear  Eveline!  By  to-night  we  shall  be  safe 
on  shore  and  by  to-morrow  all  our  troubles  will  be 
forgotten!" 

Lord  Arthur  responded,  somewhat  absent-mindedly, 
to  the  toast.  Courtesy  demanded  that  he  should  wish 
the  young  couple  well  but  his  own  mind  was  far  from 
easy.  He  could  not  get  out  of  his  head  the  picture 
of  the  Baptist,  fading  into  the  distance  on  his  way 
to  Brest;  in  his  ears  still  rang  his  wife's  despairing 
cry. 

109 


no  THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH 

At  this  moment  there  were  heard  from  the  draw- 
ing-room the  notes  of  the  piano.  As  Lord  Arthur 
and  the  two  Americans  passed  from  the  dining  saloon 
and  went  by  the  door  of  the  drawing-room,  they  saw 
young  Violet  Campbell  seated  at  the  Steinway  grand 
and  singing  softly  as  she  played: 

"My  heart's  in  the  Highlands, 
My  heart  is  not  here!" 

The  other  young  girls,  clustering  round  her,  began 
to  cry  out: 

"Oh,  do  play  something  cheerful,  Vi !  We  shall  all 
be  in  tears  in  a  minute !    Play  some  ragtime !" 

And  the  next  moment  the  syncopations  of  a  fox- 
trot tinkled  across  the  air. 

The  captain  was  on  the  bridge,  as  he  had  been  ever 
since  the  Gigantic,  her  broken  shaft  repaired,  had 
started  once  more  upon  her  way.  With  him  was  van 
der  Linden. 

"You're  sure  of  her  course?"  asked  the  captain. 

"Absolutely,  sir.  She's  making  a  straight  line  for 
Kinsale." 

All  the  time  he  spoke  the  mate  kept  the  glasses  to 
his  eyes.  Before  the  Gigantic  stretched  a  calm  and 
sun-flecked  sea;  overhead  the  sky  was  broken  blue. 
Suddenly  van  der  Linden  spoke,  half  to  himself : 

"That's  funny.  .  .  .  What  is  that?  .  .  .  Do  you 
see  sir  ?" 

''See  what?    Where?" 

"Straight  ahead,  sir,  seemingly  right  on  the  horizon. 
.  .  .  Do  you  see  that  patch  of  sun-glare?  ...  I 
thought  I  saw  a  dark  streak.  .  .  .  Something  like  a 
fish.  .  .  ." 

"No,  I  can  see  nothing." 

The  old  man  continued  to  peer  through  his  glasses. 

"It  looks  as  though  it  was  a  reef,  or  something;  one 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  iii 

can  see  the  sunlight  on  the  foam.  There  it  is  again! 
Quite  clearly !    A  dark  patch  like  a  whale !" 

The  captain  laughed. 

"Rubbish!  A  whale  just  off  the  south  coast  of 
Ireland !  But  I  still  can't  see  anything.  Where  is  the 
telescope?" 

For  quite  half  a  minute  van  der  Linden  watched  the 
captain  as  he  gazed  through  the  telescope  into  the  dis- 
tance. Hastings  removed  the  glass  and  turned  to  the 
mate.    His  jaw  was  set,  but  he  was  very  pale. 

"Perfectly  true!"  he  said  quietly.  "Have  a  look 
yourself,  van  der  Linden.  The  telescope  is  much 
clearer  than  the  glass.  It's  a  periscope — ^and  nothing 
less." 

The  captain  almost  threw  the  telescope  to  the  old 
man  and  then,  rushing  to  the  speaking  tube,  gave  a 
quick  order  to  the  engine-room : 

"Sharp  to  the  left,  reverse  engines  and  full  speed 
ahead!" 

Almost  instantly  the  ship  checked  slightly  and  the 
leftward  turn  was  begun.  The  next  second  it  seemed 
as  though  some  supernatural  power  stopped  the  great 
vessel  in  her  advance  and  without  a  pause  hurled  her 
in  the  other  direction.  From  every  corner  of  the  ship, 
excitement  and  cries.  Crowds  rushed  from  the  cabins 
and  thronged  to  the  rails. 

"All  to  the  centre !  Keep  the  rails  clear !"  But  van 
der  Linden's  voice  was  lost  in  the  tumult. 

On  the  promenade  deck  Lord  Arthur  held  his  wife 
in  his  arms.  Mabel  Roade  had  snatched  the  child  from 
the  nurse  and  pressed  him  to  her  breast.  The  young 
millionaire  did  his  best  to  soothe  his  bride. 

And  now,  in  every  saloon  and  cabin  of  the  boat, 
the  electric  alarm  bells  rang.  Danger.  .  .  .  The  boats 
clear.  .  .  .  All  life-belts  on  ...   ! 

But  it  was  too  late.    The  Gigantic  seemed  to  give 


112  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

»■      ■  P        ■   ■  ■-     I— — ■  II  ■  I  I     ■         111.    ■■  ■■!       i_  I,  .111-.    ■ ■■  I   ■   ■       iMi.  I  I    — ■^■-■■  ■■     ■■  ■  II  ,     , 

a  cry  of  pain  like  a  wounded  animal;  she  shuddered, 
as  though  mortally  stricken.  The  torpedo  had  struck 
full  in  the  engine-room;  and  through  the  open  wound 
the  sea  rushed  in.  The  engines  stopped  instantly.  The 
huge  ship  began  to  list  badly.  But  she  did  not  sink. 
So  far  the  bulkheads  held. 

The  crew  had  rushed  to  the  boats.  In  a  moment 
these  were  slung  outwards  and  the  pulley  ropes  lay 
at  the  passengers'  feet.  From  the  bridge  Hastings's 
voice  thundered,  dominating  the  confusion : 

"Women  and  children  first !  I  shall  shoot  any  who 
press  forward  out  of  their  turn.  Every  sailor  is  au- 
thorized to  use  his  weapon.  First  boat  clear!  Fifty- 
two  only!    Is  she  ready?    Down  with  her!" 

The  boat  had  filled  like  lightning.  The  young  girls 
from  Vancouver,  Miss  Blossom,  the  millionaire's  bride, 
nurse  Garrison — crowded  in  with  more  than  three 
dozen  others,  all  women  and  children.  The  sailors  in 
charge  clambered  in  last.  The  boat  swung  clear  of 
the  Gigantic's  side  like  some  extraordinary  balloon, 
poised  for  a  moment  between  sea  and  sky.  At  the 
last  moment  Mabel  Roade  had  been  hurriedly  lifted 
in,  hugging  the  child  to  her  breast.  At  this  moment 
the  sinking  Gigantic  gave  a  terrible  convulsive  start 
like  a  beast  in  mortal  agony.  There  was  a  cry  of  hor- 
ror. The  ropes  that  held  the  boat  snapped  like  cotton. 
The  boat  itself  was  dashed  to  atoms  against  the  side 
of  the  Gigantic  and  her  unhappy  cargo  plunged  into 
the  sea.  Lord  Arthur  leaped  like  a  madman  after 
his  wife  and  was  seen  for  a  moment  swirling  in  the 
vortex  of  the  doomed  ship  before  he  vanished  under 
the  waves.  The  young  millionaire,  his  teeth  grimly 
set,  prepared  to  die  as  became  a  gentleman.  He  reso- 
lutely pushed  from  his  mind  his  young  wife's  fate, 
resolutely  forbade  himself  to  think  of  the  fvturc  that 
might  have  been  theirs. 


THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH  113 

"Second  boat  clear!" 

They  were  horrible  minutes,  but  this  .time  the  Gi- 
gantic made  no  movement.  Like  a  gull  the  boat  sank 
quickly  to  the  surface  of  the  water.  Eighty-two  peo- 
ple had  been  crowded  into  her,  but  as  soon  as  she 
touched  the  sea  the  oars  sprang  into  motion  and  she 
shot  safely  beyond  the  fatal  whirlpool  of  the  sinking 
ship.    The  sailors  cheered. 

"Third  boat  clear!" 

In  the  meantime,  from  the  second  class  and  from  the 
steerage,  boats  had  been  lowered.  There  were  now 
three  safely  clear  in  the  open  sea. 

In  the  second  class.  Black,  one  of  the  mates,  was 
in  charge  of  the  rescue  organization,  and,  like  Cap- 
tain Hastings,  held  his  revolver  in  his  hand.  Women 
on  their  knees  cried  aloud : 

"Lord  save  us !" 

At  Black's  order  they  were  seized  and  almost  thrown 
into  the  boats,  which  was  now  ready  for  launching. 
But  van  Houten  stood  in  the  way.  Forcing  himself 
forward,  he  knelt  before  Black  crying: 

"Let  me  go  in  the  boat !    For  God's  sake,  let  me  go !" 

But  the  revolver  pointed  at  his  head  was  the  only 
answer.  Another  boat  loaded  and  ready  to  go  and 
still  van  Houten  was  left  behind.  Feverishly  he  of- 
fered all  and  sundry  money — a,  thousand,  two  thou- 
sand, three  thousand  dollars  .  .  .  !  His  voice  grew 
shrill  and  tremulous.  But  no  one  listened.  Four,  five, 
six,  ten  thousand  dollars !  .  .  .  The  second  boat  sank 
to  the  surface  of  the  sea.  One  of  the  ropes  that  held 
it  brushed  against  van  Houten's  hand  in  which,  during 
his  panic-stricken  cries  and  prayers,  he  had  held  his 
precious  pocketbook.  The  Jew  suddenly  shrieked,  for 
the  rope  had  jerked  the  pocketbook  from  his  hand  and 
whirled  it  over  the  side  of  the  ship,  lost  forever  in  the 
Atlantic.    Van  Houten  took  leave  of  his  senses.    He 


114  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

began  to  laugh  hysterically  like  a  schoolboy  at  a  cir- 
cus; then  he  cried  aloud:  "Kill  me!  Kill  me!"  but  no 
one  listened  to  him.  His  words  and  movements  were 
lost  in  a  smothered  roar  from  deep  in  the  body  of  the 
Gigantic.  The  negro  stokers  were  buried  alive.  The 
water  had  rushed  in  above  them,  was  already  mount- 
ing rapidly  in  the  stokeholes  themselves.  The  electric 
light  had  gone  out  and  there,  as  it  were  walled  up  in 
darkness  with  no  prospect  but  that  of  immediate  death 
by  drowning,  they  reverted  to  the  blood  lust  and  sav- 
agery of  their  race.  One  of  them,  a  giant  Nubian,  drew 
his  knife  and  ran  amuck  among  his  companions,  strik- 
ing whatever  he  ran  against  in  the  darkness.  All  the 
time  he  roared  like  one  possessed  of  the  deyil  and  it 
was  his  lunatic  bellowing  that  was  heard,  as  though 
far  away,  on  the  decks  of  the  steerage  and  of  the 
second  class. 

With  each  minute  that  passed,  terror  increased. 
Boat  after  boat  got  safely  off ;  yet  the  crowd  of  those 
on  deck  seemed  as  great  as  ever.  The  Gigantic's 
wireless  was  still  working  and  appeal  after  frenzied 
appeal  was  sent  out.  But  no  passing  ship,  no  friendly 
wireless  station,  picked  up  the  messages. 

Still  she  did  not  sink  and  every  second  meant  life. 

Suddenly  from  the  steerage  deck  came  the  sound  of 
revolver  shots.  The  last  boat  was  ready  for  launch- 
ing, crowded  to  its  utmost  capacity  with  eighty  souls. 
But  there  were  two  hundred  who  wanted  to  go.  Sud- 
denly, one  of  the  young  men  on  the  way  to  a  munition 
factory  in  England  fired  a  random  shot,  and  for  a 
moment  all  discipline  vanished.  There  was  a  wild 
struggle  for  safety,  in  which  even  some  members  of 
the  crew  took  part.  An  enormous  Scotchman,  named 
Gibson,  who  had  for  many  years  been  a  pilot,  as- 
sumed command  in  the  interests  of  law  and  order. 
With  a  roar  like  a  lion  he  hurled  himself  into  the  panic- 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  115 

stricken  crowd  and,  seizing  one  of  the  leaders,  lifted 
him  clear  off  the  deck  and  hurled  him  into  the  sea. 

"Next  come,  next  served !"  he  shouted,  and  the  band 
of  rebels,  after  a  moment's  wavering,  fell  sullenly 
back.  The  last  boat  was  lowered  into  the  sea.  Left 
behind  on  the  deck,  faced  with  inevitable  death,  the 
abandoned  met  the  crisis  in  their  various  ways.  Some 
stared  mutely  before  them,  some  wrung  their  hands, 
some  prayed,  some  called  for  father  or  mother,  or 
wife  or  children,  some  appealed  desperately  for  help 
to  England  or  to  America  and,  like  a  concert  in  hell, 
the  babel  went  up  to  the  throne  of  God.  There  was 
yet  a  slender  hope,  the  life-belt.  The  victims  might 
look  forward  to  keeping  afloat  for  hours  in  the  icy 
water  till  they  were  picked  up  by  a  steamer,  or,  more 
likely,  until  cramp  or  weakness  brought  the  end. 

Or,  might  the  Gigantic  still  float?  She  was  now 
lying  on  her  side,  her  decks  like  mountain  slopes,  but 
if  only  she  held  there  was  still  a  chance  that,  clinging 
to  her  as  to  a  desert  island,  the  survivors  might  yet 
be  saved.    A  thousand  prayers  rose  to  heaven : 

"Lord,  keep  her  afloat!" 

But  heaven  was  distant  and  cold  and  heard  nothing. 

In  a  corner  of  the  steerage  deck  crouched  a  forgot- 
ten woman.  Too  weak  to  struggle  toward  the  boat, 
she  lay  ill  and  miserable  longing  for  death.  The  child 
she  held  in  her  arms  was  fatherless,  for  her  hus- 
band, after  a  few  weeks  of  life  together,  had  beaten 
and  deserted  her.  Dully  she  waited  for  death.  But 
the  child,  born  to  hunger,  misery  and  contempt,  slept 
peacefully  in  her  arms — wrecking  nothing  of  the  death 
so  near  at  hand— dreaming  dreams  of  sweetness  and 
innocence.  Neither  hero  nor  coward — but  outside  the 
normal  classifications  of  the  world — ^the  child  a  sym- 
bol like  the  Baptist,  slept  and  smiled  at  the  very  jaws 
of  death. 


ii6  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

On  the  second-class  deck  a  madman  was  being  bound 
with  cord.  Van  Houten,  with  foam  on  his  lips,  was 
raving  for  his  money,  striking  out  to  right  and  left, 
calling  aloud  for  a  chance  of  rescue.  The  man  who 
closed  with  and  finally  overcame  him  was  the  young 
American  millionaire  who,  having  seen  his  wife  plunge 
to  her  death  from  that  ill-fated  boat,  was  facing  his 
end  like  a  hero  and,  in  the  work  of  discipline  and  res- 
cue, toiling  at  Hastings's  side. 

But  neither  van  Houten  in  his  lunacy,  nor  the  mil- 
lionaire in  his  heroism,  were  care- free  or  happy.  Only 
the  tiny  child  in  its  mother's  arms  slept  and  smiled  at 
death. 

Minute  followed  minute.  Nothing  happened.  No 
steamer,  no  mast,  no  funnel  appeared  on  the  horizon, 
nothing  that  could  save  the  miserable  remnants  of  the 
great  Gigantic.  And  then,  without  a  moment's  warn- 
ing, with  the  roar  of  a  volcano  in  eruption  there  came 
a  great  explosion.  Into  the  air  rose  a  column  of  black 
smoke,  lit  with  darting  flames,  and,  with  a  turmoil  as 
though  a  giant  were  being  drowned  in  a  boiling  caul- 
dron, the  Gigantic  blew  up  and  was  engulfed  in  the 
sea.  The  water  closed  over  the  shattered  monster; 
the  seething  disturbance  died  rapidly  down  and  was 
smoothed  away  in  gradually  widening  circles.  Noth- 
ing remained.  No  point  of  rigging,  no  fluttering  pen- 
nant, no  fragment  of  that  flag  of  England  which  had 
so  proudly  flown  from  the  Gigantic's  masthead,  broke 
the  unpi tying  surface  of  the  Atlantic.  Only,  littered 
along  the  sea,  the  helpless  sport  of  swell  and  current, 
bodies,  planks  of  wood,  empty  bottles,  bits  of  furni- 
ture. .  .  .  The  sun  shone  wisely  in  the  sky;  the  sea 
intoned  once  more  her  eternal  chant.  .  .  . 

Gone  .  .  .  gone  .  .  .  irretrievably  gone.  .  .  . 

It  was  exactly  twenty  minutes  since  the  torpedo  had 
struck  the  vessel's  engine-room. 


CHAPTER   XVI 

ONE  of  the  boats  from  the  wrecked  liner  toiled 
over  the  sea,  fighting  its  pitiable  fight  with 
wind  and  wave.  The  last  to  shoot  safely  be- 
yond the  treacherous  whirlpool  of  the  sinking  ship, 
it  struggled  along  into  the  emptiness  of  distance,  know- 
ing nothing  of  tibe  fate  of  the  other  boats,  too  deeply 
concerned  with  its  own  chances  to  trouble  about  its 
fellows. 

Eighty  persons,  men,  women,  children  and  a  few 
sailors,  were  crowded  into  its  tiny  space.  Gibson,  who 
had  taken  charge  of  this  boat  after  quelling  the  panic- 
stricken  rush  on  the  steerage  deck,  sat  at  the  back  and 
held  in  his  hand  the  fate  of  these  eighty  fugitives. 
Sailors  toiled  at  the  oars  and  the  little  boat  now  rode 
high  on  the  crest  of  a  wave,  now  sank  into  a  valley 
that  seemed  many  miles  from  the  place  of  the  ca- 
tastrophe. The  toilsome  course  lay  through  the  litter 
of  the  wreck.  Now  and  again  the  sea  was  troubled 
with  sinister  movements  and  every  glance  thrown  out 
of  the  boat  met  terrible  .evidence  of  the  great  disaster. 
Joists  and  barrels,  boxes  and  pieces  of  furniture,  an 
occasional  life-belt,  fragments  of  sailcloth,  bits  of 
basketwork,  all  these  and  much  else  floated  absurdly, 
revoltingly,  upon  the  sea.  Frequently  the  horrified 
eyes  of  the  survivors  would  see  an  arm,  a  leg,  a  head 
of  one  of  the  victims,  and  it  was  as  though  death 
itself  were  grinning  horribly  at  the  refugees,  thrust- 
ing an  evil  head  from  under  the  waves  and,  the  next 
moment,  plunging  once  more  out  of  sight  into  un- 
imaginable horrors  hidden  far  below. 

"7 


ii8  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

The  sailors  counted :  One,  two !  One  .  .  .  two !  The 
oars  smote  the  water  with  the  regularity  of  clockwork. 
The  strong  arms  were  at  full  stretch  to  prevent  the 
boat  capsizing. 

Suddenly  Gibson  cried : 

"Let  go !    Get  back !" 

Gripping  the  side  a  black  hand  and  arm  had  risen 
from  the  sea.  Once  more  death  looked  over  the  side 
of  the  little  boat.  She  swayed  dangerously,  as  with 
a  despairing  effort  the  negro  cook  Elias  pulled  him- 
self level  with  the  gunwale. 

"Save  me !"  he  gasped. 

"Let  go!    We  shall  capsize!" 

But  the  black  hand  held  on.  The  wretched  creature 
swept  the  terrified  boatload  with  eyes  already  blazing 
with  agony  and  faintness. 

"Don't  let  a  soul  move!"  thundered  the  Scots- 
man.   "Let  go,  you  devil,  or  we  shall  sink !" 

But  still  the  black  hand  held  on. 

The  boat  was  tilting  more  and  more  perilously.  The 
negro  seemed  to  be  making  a  yet  more  violent  strug- 
gle for  safety.  Gibson  came  to  a  sudden  and  terrible 
decision.  Snatching  one  of  the  heavy  oars  from  the 
nearest  sailor  he  brought  it  down  with  all  his  might 
on  the  negro's  head.  An  inarticulate  cry,  and  the  head 
and  arms  disappeared,  only  a  tinge  of  red  staining 
the  surface  of  the  indifferent  sea.  With  horror  in  their 
eyes  the  fugitives  in  the  little  boat  sat  silent  and  mo- 
tionless. The  sailors  bent  over  their  oars,  slowly  forc- 
ing the  boat  out  of  the  area  of  terror  and  despair. 

The  time  passed.  And  still  for  hour  after  hour, 
far  and  wide,  no  sail,  no  speck  of  any  sort  to  break 
the  monotony  of  the  sea.  The  sailors  rowed  steadily. 
The  sun  was  dropping  fast  to  westward.  How  long 
was  it  since  the  Gigantic  sank?  Four  hours,  five 
hours,  perhaps  six  hours  .  .  .   ?    The  fugitives  did 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  119 

not  know.  They  had  lost  sense  of  time  and  of  place, 
for  they  had  no  watch,  no  compass,  no  map.  Only 
the  slant  of  the  setting  sun  assured  them  that  they  were 
crawling  northwards. 

The  sun  set.  And  still  no  funnel,  no  sail,  no  mast 
in  the  vast  circle  of  the  darkening  sea,  now  stained 
with  purple  into  a  shimmering  lake  of  blood  by  the 
dying  sun.  Gradually  the  purple  died  and  the  sea 
became  pale  and  cold.  The  night  wind  began  to  blow, 
ruffling  the  surface  of  the  water.  Now  and  again  a 
tiny  wave  splashed  into  the  boat,  as  though  in  play. 

"Start  bailing!"  ordered  the  Scotsman. 

"May  I  help,  Mr.  Gibson  ?" 

It  was  Pitt's  voice,  thin  and  eager,  from  the  corner 
where  he  cowered. 

"Go  ahead,  young  'un!'*  replied  Gibson.  And  the 
boy,  seizing  one  of  the  bailing  cans,  set  patiently  to 
work.  There  were  several  of  them  thus  engaged  and, 
with  the  regularity  of  clockwork,  as  the  water  slopped 
over  the  side  into  the  boat,  they  threw  it  out  again. 

So  the  hours  passed  and  the  little  company  sat,  half 
numbed  with  fatigue,  half  on  edge  with  fear  of  death. 
From  under  the  seat  on  which  he  sat,  Gibson  drew 
a  tin  box.    Anxiously  he  counted  the  biscuits. 

"Six  biscuits  for  each  of  us,"  he  said,  "and  after 
that  there  is  nothing.  You've  got  the  drinking  water, 
Lyon?" 

"Yes." 

"No  one  is  to  drink  without  asking  me.  Three 
times  a  day  a  quarter  mugful.  That  should  make  the 
water  last  three  days." 

The  biscuits  were  passed  round  in  miserable  silence ; 
the  boatload  crunched  their  unappetizing  meal. 

It  was  now  night.  The  sailors  wrapped  their  coats 
over  women  and  children,  and  in  the  darkness  the 
tireless  beat  of  the  oars  went  on,  one  .  .  .  two,  one 


120  THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH 

.  .  .  two.  .  .  .  The  boat  crawled  over  the  sea  like 
a  ghost.  Those  on  board  neither  slept  nor  watched. 
A  kind  of  half-unconsciousness  possessed  them,  caused 
by;  the  emotions  and  exertions  of  the  day  now  past. 
The  spring  moon  climbed  into  the  sky  and  threw  a 
spectral  light  over  the  ocean  and  over  the  tiny  boat. 
.  .  .  The  waves  sang  their  magic  song,  a  song  of 
witchery  and  fear. 

Gibson  and  the  sailors  and  also  little  Pitt  peered 
ceaselessly  through  the  darkness  for  a  possible  light. 
Gibson  had  a  few  rockets  in  his  pocket  and  got  these 
in  readiness  to  send  up,  should  there  appear  in  the 
distance  any  glimmer  that  spoke  of  a  passing  ship. 
If  only  the  water  had  not  got  to  them  and  made  them 
damp  and  useless  .  .  .   ! 

The  silence  of  the  boat  was  broken  now  and  again 
by  whispered  words,  words  of  comfort  or  of  hope, 
words  of  complaint  or  of  pity.  Thirst,  cramp,  numb- 
ness of  hands  and  feet  afflicted  all  alike.  Only  Pitt 
seemed  tireless.  Hour  after  hour  he  bailed  and  bailed, 
changing  the  cans  from  one  hand  to  another,  seemingly 
triumphant  by  spirit  alone  over  bodily  weakness.  And 
while  he  bailed  his  sharp  young  ears  never  ceased  to 
sweep  the  surrounding  sea.  A  ship  would  come;  a 
ship  must  come;  else  why  had  he  been  raised  from 
his  bed  of  sickness  .  .  .  ?  The  Baptist's  words  rang 
in  his  ears : 

"Are  you  afraid  of  death  ?" 

And,  again,  a  little  later : 

"Are  not  two  sparrows  sold  for  a  farthing?  And 
one  of  them  shall  not  fall  to  the  ground  without  your 
Father.  But  the  very  hairs  of  your  head  are  all  num- 
bered. Fear  ye  not,  therefore;  ye  are  of  more  value 
than  many  sparrows !" 

"Mr.  Gibson,"  said  the  boy  suddenly. 

"Hullo!" 


TH^,  SHIP   OF   DEATH  12 1 


"1 


'Look  over  there  .  .  .  !  Right  over  there  where 
a  cloud  shadow  makes  the  dark  patch  on  the  sea.  .  .  . 
I  can  see  a  Httle  light.  .  .  .  What  is  it?" 

"I  do  not  know,  my  lad.    Starlight,  perhaps.  .  .  .'* 

"But  look !  The  cloud  shadow  is  getting  larger  and 
still  I  see  the  light.  .  .  .  Look!  It  is  brighter  now! 
Can't  you  see  it,  Mr.  Gibson?'* 

"Yes.    I  see  it  now!" 

"And  I!  And  I!  And  I!  .  .  ."  One  after  another 
the  sailors  joined  in  the  cry.  They  strained  their  eyes 
into  the  darkness.    Pitt  spoke  again : 

"It's  a  ship,  Mr.  Gibson.    It  must  be  a  ship  !'* 

The  joyful,  almost  incredible  news  ran  from  mouth 
to  mouth.  A  ship !  A  ship !  A  ship !  .  .  .  A  spark 
of  hope  was  lit  in  the  hearts  of  the  fugitives.  Eighty 
pairs  of  eyes  strove  to  pierce  the  darkness.  And  the 
light  grew  brighter. 

"It's  a  ship!"  shouted  Pitt  in  delight.  "I  can  see 
it  plainly  now.  Let  off  one  of  those  rockets,  Mr. 
Gibson." 

As  the  woods  awake  at  the  first  kiss  of  spring,  so 
the  spirits  of  the  shipwrecked  boatload  stirred  into 
life.  Gibson  felt  in  his  pocket  and  drew  out  one  of 
the  three  rockets.  With  Pitt's  help  a  sheltered  place 
was  made  with  hands  and  caps  in  which  to  light  the 
fuse.    The  string  fizzled  a  little  and  then  went  out. 

"Damn!"  said  Gibson  under  his  breath.  "The 
thing's  wet." 

He  took  the  second  rocket.  Once  more  a  careful 
shelter  was  made;  once  more  a  match  was  put  to  the 
fuse.  For  a  moment  it  seemed  as  though  this  also 
would  fizzle  and  go  out,  but  it  caught,  and,  with  a 
lightning  upward  rush,  rose  like  a  streak  of  fire  into 
the  darlmess,  poised  a  moment  in  the  air,  and  then 
fell  in  a  shower  of  stars  toward  the  sea.  All  eyes 
were  turned  toward  the  approaching  light.     Surely 


-  *7R(W,;^r.->,'wrr^-s,w;7S7;^-.-,  ■  ;■>  -^ 


'W'^p: 


122  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

*    "      '  ■■!      I        -  ■■■     I  ■       ■  I  II ■         — ^|.     I.BM    ■■    ■■       I        ■■     I       ■■     I         I     ■     ■        I..    I  .  -  I  I     -■■■  Mil  ■ 

some  reply  would  come.  .  .  .  The  minutes  passed, 
one,  two,  three,  five,  and  still  in  desperation  they 
clung  to  their  hope.  But  nothing  happened.  Only  the 
distant  light  came  nearer  and  nearer. 

"Try  again!"  urged  Pitt. 

"I've  only  one  left,  lad,"  was  Gibson's  answer. 

And  for  a  little  while,  hardly  able  to  breathe  for 
anxiety,  they  watched  the  light  grow  slowly  nearer. 

There  could  be  no  doubt  at  all.  It  was  a  small  ship. 
Probably  a  fishing-smack.  If  only  it  saw  them  they 
would  be  saved.  .  .  .  And  Gibson  determined  to  make 
his  last  attempt.  The  third  rocket  shot  up  into  the 
darkness,  broke  into  its  many-colored  stars  and  van- 
ished. Once  again  agonizing  minutes  of  dying  hope. 
One  minute,  two,  three,  five.  And  still  nothing  hap- 
pened, no  sign,  no  answering  rocket,  no  siren.  .  .  . 
Nothing!  Despairingly  they  gazed  into  the  darkness, 
praying  for  some  reply.  A  quarter  of  an  hour  passed. 
Nothing.  .  .  . 

"The  light  is  getting  dimmer,  Mr.  Gibson." 

Gibson  nodded. 

"Dimmer  .  .  .  dimmer  .  .  .  dimmer  .  .  ."  whispered 
the  despairing  wretches. 

The  light  faded  and  finally  vanished.  Had  it  all 
been  a  mirage?  •  If  it  was  a  real  ship,  the  crew  must 
have  seen  the  two  rockets.  .  .  .  But  perhaps  they  had. 
...  It  was  war-time  and  the  ordinary  rules  of  rescue 
no  longer  applied. 

Once  more  the  sun  rose  out  of  the  sea.  The  eighty 
refugees  were  very  cold.  For  eighteen  hours  they  had 
had  no  food  but  a  few  small  biscuits,  no  drink  but 
a  sip  of  water.  The  second  day  went  by  and  still  no 
ship  appeared.  The  arms  of  the  lusty  sailors  could 
not  row  much  more.  Despair,  hunger,  cold,  cramp, 
the  fear  of  death  on  every  face.  .  .  .  Only  Pitt  seemed 
to  have  any  courage  left. 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  123 

"A  ship  will  come !  I  tell  you  a  ship  must  come !" 
he  repeated  again  and  again. 

About  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  they  threw  a 
dead  body  into  the  sea.  It  was  a  three-year-old  child, 
which  had  succumbed  to  the  cold  and  privations  of 
the  night.  The  mother  wept  and  her  hysteria  spread 
to  the  other  women.  The  men  had  tears  in  their  eyes. 
The  sailors  sat  with  clenched  fists.  Misery  .  .  .  mis- 
ery .  .  .  misery.  .  .  .  Death  were  better  than  this. 
But  as  yet  they  could  not  die. 

"A  ship  must  come !  A  ship  must  come !"  repeated 
Pitt. 

The  second  night  descended  on  the  sea,  a  night  of 
cloud  without  moonlight  Instead,  a  fine  rain  soaked 
relentlessly  the  crouching  figures  in  the  little  boat. 
Wet  to  the  ^in,  faint  with  hunger,  they  waited  dully 
for  the  morning.  Most  of  them  were  now  sunk  in  an 
idiotic  stolidity,  caring  little  what  happened  so  long 
as  something  came  to  put  an  end  to  their  suffering. 
The  sailors  rowed  ever  more  wearily  and  with  physical 
fatigue  came  a  nerve  exhaustion  which  must,  sooner 
or  later,  override  the  habits  of  discipline. 

Contrary  to  Gibson's  strict  command,  one  young 
fellow  had  drunk  seawater.  He  was  now  tortured 
with  thirst,  racked  with  horrible  pains.  He  groaned 
and  sobbed;  but  his  agony  was  lost  in  the  hopeless 
lethargy  of  his  fellow  travelers. 

But  suddenly,  unmistakably,  they  heard  the  note 
of  a  siren.  Unwilling  at  first  to  believe  it,  they  were 
forced,  with  each  repetition  to  realize  that  it  was 
actually  a  steamer's  siren.  It  sounded  from  out  of 
the  blue  distance  as  from  another  world ;  like  the  last 
trump  it  floated  across  the  waste  of  waters.  The 
lethargy  of  the  fugitives  was  changed  to  wild  excite- 
ment. They  hugged  and  kissed  each  other,  unbalanced 
by  the  thought  of  rescue  at  this  eleventh  hour.     It 


124  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

was  no  imagination,  no  mirage.  It  was  a  large  steamer 
flying  the  Spanish  flag,  doing  the  trip  from  Barcelona 
to  Liverpool. 

Pitt,  when  he  came  to  himself  in  the  cabin  of  the 
Cataluna,  warmed  with  blankets  and  with  hot  tea, 
laughed  and  sobbed  at  once,  when  he  heard  the  vessel 
was  bound  for  Liverpool. 

*'I  knew  it,  I  knew  it,"  he  murmured,  and  once  again 
sobbed  and  laughed. 

Of  the  others,  many  seemed  quite  unhinged  by  their 
deliverance  and  from  the  decks  of  the  Cataluna  there 
rose  to  heaven,  like  some  unearthly  thanksgiving 
chorus,  the  prayers  and  laughter  of  the  wretches  who 
had  been  snatched  from  the  jaws  of  death. 


CHAPTER   XVII 

ON  the  surface  of  the  sea  a  long  trail  of  oil 
marked  the  sinister  track  of  some  evil  trav- 
eler in  the  depths.  At  once  filthy,  crudely  vio- 
let and  yellow,  it  shone  in  the  sun.  And  now  suddenly^ 
from  the  oil-flecked  and  blood-stained  water,  the  sub- 
marine itself  rose  gradually  to  the  surface.  The  crew 
gave  almost  a  cry  of  relief.  For  hours  they  had  re- 
mained in  their  oil-soaked  clothes,  crammed  together  in 
the  little  engine-room  among  the  crowded  mechanism, 
some  under  the  conning  tower,  some  with  the  torpe- 
does, some  at  the  fatal  torpedo-tubes.  One  after  an- 
other the  twenty-two  of  them  climbed  to  the  lookout 
gallery  and  gazed  once  more  on  the  sea,  the  sunlight, 
and  the  sky.  They  filled  their  lungs  with  pure  air  to 
drive  out  the  poison  vapors  which  in  their  underwater 
prison  they  had  been  compelled  to  breathe.  They  felt 
the  petrol  fumes  still  clogging  their  breath,  their  eyes 
smarted  and  burned,  their  very  digestions  seemed  to 
work  with  pain  and  difficulty. 

Down  there,  in  the  underwater  coffin,  Bischoff  had 
tried  to  cheer  their  spirits  by  playing  his  concertina. 
But  once  the  submarine  got  within  range  and  was 
preparing  to  fire  a  torpedo,  the  rattle  and  snorting  of 
the  accumulators  had  drowned  all  other  sounds.  But 
in  desperate  unison  they  shouted  a  chorus,  as  though 
in  the  hope  of  deafening  themselves  to  the  roar  of 
the  sea  over  their  heads,  the  noise  of  the  engines,  the 
horror  of  the  whole  proceeding. 

Captain  Stirn  and  his  Lieutenant,  von  Wimpfen, 
kept  their  eyes  glued  to  the  periscope.  In  attendance 
were  two  sailors,  Miiller  and  Dietrich.    And  then  had 

125 


■i  ■&■■?■/,■'  «y_^^Ri?'_f  T-^j;^ 


126  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

■  I        II  I  ■■■  I      ^■IM— — — .    ■    M.—      I..l»|..»    M  I        !■■■  ■     .M— ..I       ■■■  I       I       ■■.      I  ■     ■  I    ■■.      1  I        I        I    ..-.I  I     I         I  ■    ■■     ■    ■      .1     ■    I         ■    I  II.  ■»         < 

come  the  moment,  the  hideous,  fatal  moment,  the  mo- 
ment which  had  made  beat  more  quickly  even  these 
twenty-two  hearts,  steeled  to  ruthlessness  by  battle 
lust  and  by  contempt  for  death.  There,  passing  on 
the  surface  of  the  sea,  was  the  mighty  ship  with  two 
thousand  souls  on  board,  the  Gigantic,  on  her  voyage 
to  England.  And  they  had  received  orders  that  the 
Gigantic,  come  what  may,  must  be  sunk  and  sunk  with- 
out a  trace. 

The  captain's  pitiless  voice  struck  terribly  on  the 
ears  of  his  crew: 

"Ready?  ...  Let  her  go!" 

And  the  torpedo  shot  on  its  way  through  the  water. 
The  rebound  was  so  great  that  the  submarine  seemed, 
like  a  horse  suddenly  gored  with  the  spur,  to  leap  up- 
wards toward  the  surface.  The  crew  clutched  at 
anything  handy  to  keep  their  balance,  but  the  sub- 
marine soon  steadied  herself  and  they  went  about  their 
duty  without  emotion.  Captain  Stirn,  watching 
through  the  periscope,  saw  the  hideous  success  of  the 
torpedo,  and,  like  a  child  at  a  Christmas  party  enter- 
tained by  a  magic  lantern,  gazed — so  tiny  were  the 
proportions  he  seemed  to  be  gazing  from  miles  away — 
at  the  end  of  the  stricken  liner.  He  saw  the  Gigantic 
sway  and  totter;  he  saw  the  boats,  like  little  dots,  put 
off  and  row  away;  at  last  he  saw  the  steamer  lean 
more  and  more  and  finally  sink.  .  .  .  Now  that  the 
submarine  was  on  the  surface,  the  captain  with  his 
crew  profited  as  best  they  might  from  their  short  re- 
spite in  the  open  air.  It  was  dangerous  to  stay  too 
long.  Who  knew  what  might  not  come  that  way,  to 
what  dreadnought  or  cruiser  the  Gigantic  s  despairing 
cries  had  reached?  The  captain  had  removed  his 
greasy  overalls  and  stood  there,  clean  and  smart  in 
his  uniform.  In  the  middle  thirties,  his  bronzed  and 
lean  face  spoke  of  energy  and  power. 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  127 


'What  is  that  there,  von  Wimpfen?" 
'Where,  sir?" 

*I  seem  to  see  something  right  at  the  back  there, 
by  the  propeller." 

Two  of  the  sailors  were  sent  to  examine.  As  they 
did  not  return  immediately,  von  Wimpfen  cried: 

"What  have  you  found  there,  Birk?  Is  anything 
wrong  ?" 

After  a  short  pause,  the  voice  of  the  sailor  w^as 
heard : 

"A  woman's  body,  sir,  caught  by  the  hair  in  the 
propeller.  Shall  we  cut  the  hair  and  throw  the  body 
in  the  sea  ?" 

Von  Wimpfen  turned  to  the  captain  with  a  look  of 
interrogation.  Stim  walked  along  the  boat  toward 
the  propeller  and,  leaning  over,  saw  the  dead  body  of 
a  woman,  the  features  smashed  beyond  recognition, 
roped  to  the  submarine  by  a  mass  of  wonderful  golden 
hair.  Even  in  its  soaked  condition  the  clothing  was 
evidently  expensive  and  rich.  On  the  slender  fingers 
were  many  rings. 

"Loose  the  body  carefully,"  ordered  the  captain, 
"and  bring  it  on  board." 

For  a  moment  the  sailors  stared  in  amazement.  Had 
the  captain  forgotten  the  risk  of  lying  like  this  on  the 
surface  of  the  sea,  that  he  wasted  time  hauling  corpses 
on  board?  But  the  famous  German  discipline  con- 
quered curiosity  and  they  bent  quickly  to  their  task. 

"Maybe  we  can  find  some  means  of  embalming  the 
body  temporarily,"  went  on  the  captain  as  though 
to  himself,  "for  I  can't  bring  myself  to  throw  it  back 
into  the  sea.  Take  off  all  valuables  and  things  of 
interest  and  bring  them  to  me  in  the  cabin." 

Ten  minutes  later  Stirn  gave  the  order  to  dive. 
After  a  moment's  bustle  the  valves  of  the  submarine 
closed  automatically,  the  accumulators  began  to  work 


128  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

-■■■I"  ■■M.IM.M  I  Ill  [■■■■—■I         111       II  I  ■■■■■■■■■■■I         ■■     ■     I         I  ^■■^^—■M ■— — ^ 

once  more,  the  electric  light  blazed  up,  and  the  con- 
queror of  the  Gigantic  slipped  away  unseen  from  the 
scene  of  its  grisly  victory. 

Von  Wimp  fen  was  put  temporarily  in  command 
and  Stirn  stood  before  the  table  in  his  cabin  with, 
spread  out  in  front  of  him,  the  objects  taken  from  the 
woman's  body.  Among  these  he  noticed  a  small  water- 
proof case  in  which  he  found  a  book,  finely  bound 
in  red  leather  and  locked  with  a  tiny  golden  key. 
Brushing  aside  the  bag  containing  money,  the  wedding 
ring,  the  other  jewelry,  Stirn  opened  the  book  and 
there  read,  written  on  the  first  page,  in  the  handwrit- 
ing of  a  woman  of  character : 

Diary  of  Arthur  Robert  Withcomb  Roade,  kept  by  his  mother, 
Mabel  Roade,  nee  Withcomb. 

It  was  not  easy  to  see  whether  Captain  Stirn  was 
reading  the  book  or  not.  His  eyes  never  left  the  pages 
and  his  hand  turned  the  leaves.  Was  he  reading  the 
words  that  followed? 

Arthur  Robert  Withcomb  Roade  was  born  on  March  15, 
1915,  on  Long  Island,  in  the  State  of  New  York,  in  the  house 
of  his  mother's  father,  Henry  Withcomb.  When  bom  be 
weighed  just  over  seven  pounds. 

The  hand  of  Captain  Stirn  turned  another  page. 
No  one  could  say  whether  he  was  reading  or  whether 
the  words  made  any  impression  on  his  mind. 

To-day  for  the  first  time  his  mother  thought  he  smiled.  His 
father  is  going  home  to  the  Foreign  Office  in  London  and  we 
are  crossing  together.  If  anything  happens  to  the  child,  I,  his 
mother,  will  kill  myself. 

Another  page  was  turned.  And  still  the  captain 
may  have  read  or  may  have  merely  gazed  unseeing 
before  him. 

We  can  find  no  wet-nurse  to  cross  to  England  with  us.  What 
shall  we  do  on  board?  Some  way  must  be  found  to  provide 
milk  at  the  necessary  heat. 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  129 

Stirn  seemed  to  turn  the  pages  more  quickly.  His 
hand  shook  a  little,  as  though  his  nerves  were  getting 
out  of  control. 

Anon)Tnous  letters  told  us  that  the  ship  would  be  sunk.  No- 
body believes  it,  but  I  pray  day  and  night  for  my  son.  ... 

Spasmodically  Stirn's  fingers  crumpled  the  page  to- 
gether— so  violently  that  the  paper  was  torn,  but  this 
the  captain  did  not  notice,  for  the  words  he  had  just 
read  thundered  in  his  brain  above  the  roar  of  the 
engines,  and  their  beat  seemed  to  be  saying:  "Mur- 
derer of  mother's  love!  .  .  .  Murderer  of  mother's 
love." 

I  have  made  a  curious  discovery.  There  is  a  holy  man  on 
board  the  ship;  more  than  that,  I  believe  Christ  Himself  is  on 
board.  My  husband  keeps  us  apart,  but  I  will  find  some  way 
of  taking  the  child  to  Him,  so  that  He  may  lay  His  hand  upon 
it  and  bless  it  so  that  it  may  live,  for  I  am  mortally  afraid  we 
shall  be  sunk. 

Stirn  had  promised  von  Wimp  fen  that  he  would  be 
reHeved  in  two  hours,  for  the  task  of  watching  at  the 
periscope  was  nerve-wearing  and  fatiguing.  The  lieu- 
tenant stood  in  the  conning  tower  and  waited.  The 
two  hours  had  passed  some  while  ago  and  still  there 
was  no  sign  of  the  captain.    He  called  to  Bischoff : 

"Knock  on  the  cabin-door  and  see  whether  anything 
has  happened  to  the  captain.'* 

Bischoff  knocked  three  times.    No  answer. 

"Open  the  door  and  go  in !"  called  the  lieutenant. 

Bischoff  pushed  open  the  cabin-door  and  looked  in. 

"If  you  please,  sir  .  .  ."  he  began. 

Stirn  sat  at  the  table,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  book 
before  him.    He  neither  moved  nor  made  any  reply. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir  .  .  .  Lieutenant  von  Wimp- 
fen  .  .  ."  then,  seeing  the  vacant  look  which  the  cap- 
tain turned  toward  him,  he  burst  out :  "I  am  Bischoff, 
sir.    Don't  you  know  me?" 


I30  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

"    ■'  '       • 

But  the  captain  made  this  strange  reply: 

"Steward !  The  lady  in  the  first  class,  the  lady  with 
the  golden  hair,  tells  me  to  tell  you  .  .  ." 

The  captain  got  up  suddenly.  Never  in  his  life 
had  Bischoff  seen  such  a  strange,  unearthly  look  as 
that  which  his  commanding  officer  threw  round  the 
cabin.  Instantly  he  remembered  reading  in  the  news- 
papers cases  of  lunacy  caused  by  the  horrors  of  war. 
To  his  terror  he  saw  that  Stirn  held  a  revolver  in  his 
right  hand.  Bischoff  mustered  up  courage  and,  watch- 
ing the  revolver  carefully,  made  one  more  attempt: 

"Captain  Stirn  .  .  ." 

"Don't  you  hear  me,  steward!  I  shall  shoot  you 
instantly  if  you  do  not  obey  me.  I  was  telling  you 
that  the  lady  with  the  golden  hair  .  .  ." 

The  captain  raised  his  revolver.  Stepping  forward 
quickly,  Bischoff  knocked  it  suddenly  from  his  hand, 
so  that  it  fell  in  a  corner  under  the  table.  At  this 
moment  the  lieutenant,  curious  to  see  what  was  hap- 
pening, appeared  on  the  scene. 

"What's  the  matter,  Bischoff?"  he  asked. 

Stirn  turned  to  his  lieutenant: 

"I'm  glad  you  have  come,  purser.  This  insolent 
steward  chooses  to  disregard  my  orders  .  .  ." 

When  they  tried,  with  kindness  and  friendly  words, 
to  calm  Stirn  back  to  reason,  he  became  all  of  a  sud- 
den a  raving  madman.  With  difficulty  the  sailors 
overpowered  him  and  bound  him  tightly,  and  so,  a 
pitiable  bundle,  they  brought  him  into  Wilhelmshaven 
and  handed  him  over  to  the  authorities  of  the  mili- 
tary asylum. 

*  *  *  «  « 

Forty-eight  hours  after  the  catastrophe  the  news 
of  the  loss  of  the  Gigantic  reached  New  York.  'In 
every  corner  of  the  United  States  the  horrible  an- 
nouncement seemed  to  mark  not  only  the  end  of  an 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  131 

^^^MMMPMM^W^WV^MB^M  iR       ^1.  ,,    mm       tm     ml     •  i      is  ■    bh       ■  ■  i    i  _  i !■    ,  m^—^^mt^m^K^^i^mmmmmmm    ■    ■■■■     !>■■        « 

age,  but  a  premature  crumbling  of  the  epoch  that  would 
follow.  In  the  Fifth  Avenue  Club  in  New  York,  Le- 
vick,  the  young  engineer,  passed  the  "special  extra" 
of  the  New  York  Times  to  his  Uncle  Haynes.  The 
sheet  was  passed  from  hand  to  hand.  Not  a  word 
was  spoken.  All  were  struck  dumb  with  horror.  At 
last  Haynes,  with  a  sort  of  bitter  self-command,  pulled 
his  check  book  from  his  pocket  an.d  wrote  a  check  for 
a  thousand  dollars.  Rising  from  his  chair,  he  walked 
over  to  where  his  friend  Putnam  sat  and  handed  him 
the  check.  Putnam  alone,  in  a  freak  of  humor,  had 
wagered  on  the  Gigantic's  loss.  Mechanically  and 
without  a  word  of  thanks  he  took  the  slip  of  paper, 
folded  it  in  his  pocket,  and  with  bowed  head  walked 
out  of  the  club. 


PART  II 

THE  THIRTEEN  REINCARNATIONS  OF 
CAPTAIN  STIRN 


PART  II 

THE  THIRTEEN  REINCARNATIONS  OF 
CAPTAIN  STIRN 


M 


CHAPTER   I 

"Ti   JTURDERERr 

The  miserable  man  strugfgled  to  his  feet 
with  a  cry.  The  warder  Hoffmann  laid  a 
calming  hand  on  the  victim's  shoulder  and  for  a  little 
while  Captain  Stirn  stared  motionless  before  him. 
Ten  minutes  ago  Geheimrat  Gollmer,  the  director  of 
the  asylum,  had  visited  the  padded  cell  and  instructed 
Hoffmann  not  let  the  patient  out  of  his  sight  for  a 
minute.  Every  two  hours  the  warder  would  be 
changed,  as  this  care  of  violent  patients  in  solitary 
confinement  was  responsible  and  fatiguing.  Doctor 
Gollmer  considered  it  unlikely  that  the  patient  would 
live  much  beyond  the  night.  Promising  to  return  a 
little  before  midnight,  the  director  had  gone  his  way 
and  Hoffmann  had  settled  down  to  his  two-hour  vigil. 
It  was  between  nine  and  ten  o'clock  in  the  evening. 
High  in  the  roof  of  the  cell  a  green  shaded  light  threw 
its  dim  rays  on  the  padded  walls,  on  the  thick  mattress 
that  covered  the  floor.  The  only  window  was  heavily 
barred,  although  it  was  placed  near  the  ceiling  out  of 
himian  reach. 

Hoffmann,  having  been  for  years  a  warder  of  the 
asylum,  sat  down  philosophically  enough  on  the  chair 
in  the  comer  and  gazed,  with  a  blend  of  sympathy  and 

I3S 


:  ?^^*j5»|Jff5^g]^R5SI 


136  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

indifference,  at  the  rigid  folds  and  the  long  sleeves  of 
the  strait  waistcoat,  into  which  the  patient  had  been 
strapped. 

Stirn  sank  down  once  more  into  the  corner  and 
turned  his  face  to  the  wall. 

"Mabel!" 

The  name  came  like  a  ghostly  whisper  from  his  lips. 

Hoffmann  took  no  further  notice.  He  did  not  recog- 
nize the  nayne  and  he  knew  that  women  and  women's 
names  often  haunted  the  crazy  minds  of  lunatics. 
Madmen  usually  chattered  of  some  girl  or  other.  The 
warder  decided  that  Stirn  was  reliving  some  vanished 
love-affair.     The  madman  spoke  again : 

"What  are  these  clothes  you  are  dressing  me  in, 
Mabel?" 

"I  am  dressing  you  in  the  uniform  of  a  Moujik;  I 
am  changing  you  into  a  Moujik." 

The  question  and  answer  came  rapidly  and  without 
interruption  from  Stirn's  lips.  Whereas  a  few  min- 
utes before  he  had  foamed  at  the  mouth,  he  now  lay 
quite  quietly,  his  face  turned  to  the  wall,  his  voice 
normal. 

Hoffmann  drew  a  newspaper  from  his  pocket  and 
glanced  at  the  war  news.  Three  thousand  prisoners. 
.  .  .  Quarter  of  a  mile  advance.  .  .  .  Heavy  enemy 
losses.  .  .  .  He  had  read  that  kind  of  thing  a  hundred 
times.     It  did  not  seem  to  make  much  difference.  .  .  . 

Suddenly  the  patient  stood  up.  Hoffmann  nodded, 
almost  asleep. 

"Whither  are  you  leading  me,  Mabel?" 

Stirn  made  a  motion  as  though  to  step  forward,  but 
his  legs  were  hampered  by  the  restraining  garment 
and  he  stumbled  and  fell  on  to  the  mattress  floor. 

"What  tower  is  that,  Mabel?" 

"That  is  the  church  tower  of  Gilgenburg.  ...  ." 

"And  that  one  there?" 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  137 


if 


'That  is  the  church  tower  of  Tannenberg." 
'Where   am   I?    What   have  you   done   to  me, 
Mabel  ?" 

"You  are  the  Moujik,  Ivan  Mirsky,  belonging  to 
the  Army  of  the  Narew.  The  whole  army  will  be 
drowned  in  the  Masurian  Lakes.     You  understand?" 

"The  whole  army?" 

"The  whole  army,  except  those  who  will  already 
have  met  their  death  in  the  woods.  All  the  tree-trunks 
in  the  woods  have  been  drenched  with  oil.  Hinden- 
burg  has  ordered  it." 

"The  tree-trunks  drenched  with  oil  ?" 

"And  you  will  be  one  of  the  last  to  remain  alive 
among  these  marshes  and  in  the  depths  of  these  for- 
ests, Ivan  Mirsky.  Tell  me,  Moujik,  do  you  remem- 
ber?" 

"Do  I  remember  what?" 

"Whence  you  came  ?" 

Stim  lay  now  so  that  the  faint  light  of  the  electric 
globe  shone  on  his  face.  He  was  the  merest  ruin  of 
the  man  who,  but  a  few  days  ago,  had  sunk  the  Gigan- 
tic. His  complexion  was  ashen  gray,  patched  with 
dirty  white.  His  once  plentiful  light  brown  hair  was 
now  scanty  and  the  color  of  snow.  But  for  the  un- 
holy light  of  madness  which  shone  in  his  eyes  he  might 
have  been  a  corpse  found  lying  in  a  suddenly  reopened 
coffin.  But  the  eyes  flittered  hither  and  thither  with 
the  uneasy,  quavering  light  of  a  dying  flame. 

It  seemed  as  though,  all  of  a  sudden,  the  restless  eyes 
became  calmer: 

"Whence  I  came?"  he  whispered.  "Of  course, 
whence  I  came.  From  the  little  village  on  the  Don. 
From  my  father's  cottage  among  the  waving  wheat. 
And  my  mother,  on  that  last  evening,  singing  the  old 
song  .  .  ." 

"What  song  was  she  singing,  Moujik  ?" 


138  THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH 


"The  song  of  the  Red  Sarafan,  Mabel,  singing  with 
my  sister  Sonia." 

"Sing  me  that  song." 

In  a  ghastly  voice  the  madman  croaked  out  the  Rus- 
sian folk  tune. 

"And  then?" 

"Oh,  then  they  came  and  took  me  off,  and  half  the 
village  with  me.     All  the  young  men !" 

"Who  came?" 

"The  Cossacks,  who  were  ranging  the  country  north 
and  south,  fetching  out  the  conscripts  who  did  not  wish 
to  go.  They  told  us  we  should  be  in  Berlin  in  six 
weeks." 

"And  now  see  where  you  are,  Ivan  Mirsky!  .  .  . 
With  the  church  tower  of  Gilgenburg  over  there,  and 
that  of  Tannenberg  over  there  and  all  around  you  the 
marshes  and  the  army  of  the  Narew.  .  .  .  They  are 
surrounded,  the  men  of  that  army  of  whom  you  are 
one  and  there  is  no  way  out,  except  through  the  swamp 
or  through  the  forest,  and  in  the  forest  all  the  tree- 
trunks  are  smeared  with  oil.  .  .  .  You  will  be  one  of 
the  last  alive,  Ivan  Mirsky !" 

"Mother  of  sorrows !    Have  mercy  on  me !" 

"There  is  no  help  in  prayer,  Ivan  Mirsky,  for  the 
army  of  the  Narew  will  drown,  drown  like  young  kit- 
tens and  you  cannot  escape.  They  will  hunt  you  into 
the  wood,  where  the  tree-trunks  are  smeared  with  oil, 
and  the  woods  will  be  set  on  fire,  and  you  will  be  one 
of  the  last.  ..." 

"Why?    Tell  me  why,  Mabel!" 

The  reply  came  from  the  madman's  mouth  in  a  pite- 
ous moan : 

"So  that  your  eyes  may  see  everything  and  your 
ears  may  hear  everything." 

Stirn  struggled  to  his  knees  and  knelt  on  the  mat- 
tress.    His  lunatic  eyes  roved  over  the  floor,  walls  and 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  139 

ceiling  of  the  cell,  and  rested  on  the  warder  nodding 
over  his  newspaper  on  the  chair  in  the  comer.  The 
sights  they  saw  were  not  mattresses,  sleepy  warder, 
shaded  electric  light,  but  treacherous  swamp,  alder 
trees,  forest,  little  stagnant  ponds,  forever  and  ever, 
world  without  end.     He  cried  out  suddenly: 

"I  cannot  endure  it,  Mabel  I  It  is  too  terrible  to 
endure!" 

"You  must  endure  it!" 

The  madman  struggled  to  cover  his  eyes  and  ears 
with  his  hands,  but  the  long  sleeves  of  the  strait  waists 
coat  hampered  his  movements. 

"Fire!  Fire!  Everything  is  burning!  The  vil- 
lages and  the  woods  and  the  marsh  and  the  lakes — all 
are  burning,  and  they  are  shooting  1" 

"Who  are  shooting?" 

"The  Prussians,  the  Russians.  .  .  .  Ah!  There  is 
that  devil  .  .  . !" 

"Whom  have  you  seen,  Mirsky?" 

"Don't  you  see  him?  That  Gossack  devil  who 
hounded  me  into  the  fire  with  a  whip.  Don't  you 
see  him?" 

"Is  that  the  Cossack  that  came  and  fetched  you  from 
the  little  village  on  the  Don?" 

"That  is  he.  Let  me  go,  devil!  Liar!  We  are 
not  in  Berlin.  .  .  .  What  are  all  these  marshes  where 
everything  bums?  Gilgenburg  and  Neidenburg  and 
Tannenberg  and  Hohenstein  and  Allenstein — all  in 
flames.  .  .  .  And  the  murderers  with  their  bayonets 
sweeping  down  upon  us.  .  .  .  Mother  of  God !  Drink ! 
Give  me  something  to  drink,  Mabel !" 

"What  are  you  calling  for,  Ivan  Mirsky?" 

"Something  to  drink!  For  the  fire  bums  and  the 
smoke  stifles  and  the  sun  is  scorching  my  body !  For 
God's  sake  give  me  something  to  drink!  My  water 
bottle  is  empty.  .  .  .  See  how  the  sun  gleams  on  the 


I40  THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH 

smoke  of  the  burning  villages.  .  .  .  Nothing  to 
drink  since  yesterday.  .  .  .  Mother  of  God,  have 
mercy  .  .  . !" 

The  madman's  desperate  cries  aroused  the  warder. 
Taking  a  little  wooden  bowl  from  a  shelf,  he  filled  it 
with  water,  and,  approaching  the  patient,  put  the  bowl 
to  the  tortured  lips  which  were  once  more  flecked  with 
foam.  But  Stirn  ground  his  teeth  as  though  in  the 
grip  of  apoplexy  and  the  water  trickled  down  his  chin 
on  to  the  floor.  He  fell  back  on  to  the  mattress  once 
again. 

"I  shall  be  one  of  the  last  to  die !  What  is  happen- 
ing?   Air!     Give  me  air!     I  am  choking!" 

The  wretch  gave  a  cry  like  a  wounded  beast.  Hoff- 
mann shook  his  head  and  looked  at  him  sympathet- 
ically. He  could  do  nothing  to  help,  for  the  sensation 
of  choking  was  only  another  figment  of  the  poor,  mad 
brain  and  no  more  real  than  had  been  the  burning 
thirst. 

"What  IS  it?    Why  can't  I  breathe ?" 

"Poison  gas!    Fumes  from  the  shells.  ..." 

"Forward!  Are  you  asleep,  animal?  Forward. 
.  .  .  Not  the  whip  .  .  . !  For  God's  sake,  not  the 
whip  .  .  . !  See,  il  am  running  .  .  .  running.  ...  I 
can  hear  nothing  now.  .  .  .  Every  noise  is  drowned  in 
thunder.  .  .  .  What  is  happening,  Mabel?" 

"Artillery!" 

"Forward!  Forward,  wretch!  .  .  .  Damn  you! 
Leave  me  alone.  ...  I  am  running,  running  as  hard 
as  I  can.  ...  I  cannot  run  because  I  stumble  .  .  .  why 
do  I  keep  on  stumbling,  Mabel  ?" 

"You  are  stumbling  over  corpses,  Ivan  Mirsky. 
There  are  four  thousand  corpses  piled  on  the  ground 
and  that  is  why  you  stumble." 

"Human  corpses,  Mabel?" 

"The  corpses  of  your  countrymen,  Ivan  Mirsky, 
young  men  from  the  grainlands  of  the  Don." 


THE    SHIP    OF    DEATH  141 

"These  are  no  human  beings,  Mabel.  .  .  .  Look  at 
their  faces!  Apes,  toads,  snakes,  tigers,  hyenas,  jag- 
uars, all  wild  beasts  driven  from  the  marsh  and  from 
the  forest,  and  spattered  with  filth  .  .  .  these  are  no 
men,  no  men  such  as  I  knew  among  the  grainlands  of 
the  Don !" 

"Look  more  closely,  Ivan  Mirsky.  Even  at  this 
moment  you  are  stumbling  over  the  body  of  your 
friend  Nika  Trostin,  your  dearest  friend  in  that  little 
village  on  the  Don.  Look  again.  Do  you  not  recog- 
nize him?" 

"Nika  ?  .  .  .  Nika  ?  .  .  .  Who  was  to  marry  my  sis- 
ter Sonia?" 

"The  same,  Ivan  Mirsky,  but  his  head  has  been  car- 
ried away  by  shrapnel.  .  .  .  Over  there  you  will  find 
his  head,  Ivan  Mirsky,  in  the  little  ditch  by  the  alder- 
bush.  ..." 

"No,  no,  no  .  .  . !" 

The  madman's  frenzied  cries  were  little  more  than 
inarticulate  sounds.  Throwing  himself  full  length  on 
the  ground,  he  sought  to  bury  his  head  in  the  mattress, 
as  a  mole  would  burrow  to  escape  its  pursuers. 

"You  must  not  hide  your  head,  Ivan  Mirsky.  You 
must  see,  see.  .  .  .  You  must  look  at  that  thing  over 
there.  .  .  .  That  is  a  Russian  artillery  brigade,  Ivan 
Mirsky.  ..." 

"That  pile,  that  ragged  heap  of  remnants?  That 
is  no  artillery  brigade,  Mabel  I" 

"It  was  one.  .  .  .  But  one  of  the  enemy's  batteries 
caught  it  full.  ..." 

"No,  Mabel,  you  are  lying!  Those  fragments  of 
horses,  all  that  mess  of  blood,  is  no  Russian  brigade, 
smart  in  its  uniform  .  .  . !" 

"Nevertheless,  it  was  one,  Ivan  Mirsky,  a  whole 
brigade,  smart  in  its  uniform,  but  the  enemy's  fire 
found  it  and  that  is  the  result.    Hark!    Do  you  not 


142  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 


hear  the  guns?  You  must  dig-,  dig  a  trench  in  the 
ground  and  hide  yourself.  Take  your  spade  and 
crouch  low  in  the  trench  that  you  will  dig!  For 
heaven  is  raining  fire  and  brimstone !" 

"I  have  no  spade." 

"Then  dig  with  your  fingers!" 

It  happened  that  Stirn's  fingers  found  a  hole  in  the 
strait  waistcoat  and  with  a  struggle  he  released  his 
right  hand.     He  started  scratching  at  the  mattress. 

"What  are  you  up  to  now?"  asked  the  warder. 

The  answer,  when  it  came,  was  not  given  to  Hoff- 
mann, but  addressed  the  spectre  of  Mabel  Roade,  which 
haunted  Stirn's  imaginings. 

"I  am  digging  .  .  .  !" 

His  fevered  fingers  tore  a  hole  m  the  mattress  cover, 
and,  crying  under  his  breath :  "I  am  digging,  Mabel," 
he  began  to  pull  out  the  flock  and  strew  it  about  the 
cell.  Hoffmann,  knowing  well  the  superhuman  strength 
given  to  many  lunatics  when  restrained  in  any  way, 
made  no  attempt  to  interfere.  Soon,  however,  Stirn 
stopped  of  his  own  accord  and  fell  back  as  though  in 
sudden  apathy.  But  it  was  not  long  before  his  haunt- 
ings  began  again. 

"Mabel !"  he  called.  "It  is  water,  not  earth  that  I 
am  digging!     I  cannot  dig  in  swamp!" 

"It  is  into  the  swamp  that  they  will  throw  you,  your 
destroyers !" 

"I  see  them  coming,  Mabel !  Masses  of  them,  col- 
umn after  column,  brigade  after  brigade,  an  whole 
army  corps!  Mabel!  The  ground  is  beginning  to 
give  way!     Save  me!" 

"Hold  to  the  alder-bush,  Ivan  Mirsky.  Climb  as 
high  as  you  can,  for  you  must  be  the  last  man  alive !" 

The  madman,  with  a  frantic  effort,  attempted  to 
scramble  up  the  padded  wall;  but  time  after  time  he 
fell  back  on  to  the  floor. 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  143 

"I  have  climbed  up,  Mabel !"  he  gasped  at  last. 

"And  what  do  you  see  ?" 

"I  see  a  great  army." 

"That  is  the  army  of  General  Schilisky,  sinking  in 
the  swamp.  Can  they  save  themselves  by  running  into 
the  forest?" 

"They  will  save  themselves,  Mabel." 

"I  wonder.  For  the  forest  will  burn;  all  the  tree- 
trunks  are  smeared  with  oil,  smeared  by  infuriated 
peasantry  whose  houses  have  been  burned  to  the 
ground." 

"I  have  burned  nothing,  Mabel !  I  have  plundered 
nothing !  For  three  days  I  have  had  nothing  but  bis- 
cuit to  eat,  and  I  am  faint  with  hunger !" 

"Possibly  not,  Ivan  Mirsky,  but  it  is  the  innocent 
and  not  the  guilty  who  suffer  in  this  war." 

"The  innocent?" 

"Remember  my  child!  He  was  innocent  and  he 
was  murdered.  And  now  you,  Ivan  Mirsky,  though 
it  be  the  Cossacks  that  have  plundered  and  pillaged,  are 
to  suffer  for  others'  guilt!  It  is  a  punishment  for 
the  crime  of  these  Cossacks  that  men  are  being  burned 
alive  in  the  forests,  where  the  tree-trunks  have  been 
smeared  with  oil.  Do  you  hear  those  cries  rising  from 
the  burning  forest  behind  the  sea  of  flame,  behind  the 
cloud  of  choking  smoke?" 

"Those  are  no  cries,  Mabel ;  it  is  the  noise  of  a  hur- 
ricane !" 

"If  you  will,  Ivan  Mirsky.  Perhaps  it  was  a  hurri- 
cane that  resounded  over  the  Atlantic  the  day  the 
Gigantic  was  sunk." 

"The  Giganticr\ 

"You  know  nothing  of  the  Gigantic,  Ivan  Mirsky, 
but  on  the  day  that  great  ship  was  sunk,  the  ocean 
boiled  like  a  hell  kettle  and  there  was  the  noise  of  a 
great  hurricane." 


144  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

"A  noise  such  as  I  hear  now,  Mabel  ?" 

"The  hurricane  you  hear  now  is  the  agonized  cry 
of  ten  thousand  Moujiks  such  as  you,  Ivan  Mirsky, 
young  peasants  with  fathers  and  mothers  and  sisters 
waiting  anxiously  and  patiently  for  weeks  and  months 
and  years  in  their  little  villages  among  the  gjainlands 
of  the  Don.  Well  may  they  wait,  for  the  young  men 
are  drowning  in  the  swamp !  Hold  tight  to  your  alder- 
bush!  If  your  arms  are  strong  enough  you  may  be 
one  of  the  last  to  die.  Do  not  forget  that  at  your 
feet  the  swamp  is  waiting.  For  hours,  for  days  and 
nights,  those  wretched  men  over  there  will  scream  and 
cry.  And  for  years  and  years  men  will  dig  and  turn 
up  Russian  corpses,  and  their  decay  will  make  the 
air  a  pestilence,  for  their  number  is  legion.  So  watch 
and  watch  carefully,  Ivan  Mirsky,  and  hearken  to  what 
men  have  not  seen  and  heard  for  hundreds  of  years — 
not  since  the  days  of  Cannae  when  the  army  of  Rome 
sank  in  the  swamps  of  Pontus.  At  that  time  the  vic- 
tor's name  was  Hannibal ;  it  is  now  Hindenburg.  ..." 

"Mother  of  God !"  screamed  the  madman  suddenly. 

"Drown  now  as  they  did,  like  the  cannon  food  you 
are!" 

"The  tree  is  giving  way!  I  cannot  hold  on  any 
longer.  ...  I  am  beginning  to  sink  .  .  . !" 

"As  they  did  .  .  .  Ivan  Mirsky.  ..." 

Silence  descended  suddenly  upon  the  padded  cell. 


T 


CHAPTER  II 

"•  ■  "lAKE  care  that  you  wear  the  robes  of  priest- 
hood with  dignity.  Remember  the  words  of 
Him  that  sent  you." 

"Which  words,  Mabel?" 

"Blessed  are  ye  when  men  shall  revile  you  and 
persecute  you  and  shall  say  all  manner  of  evil  against 
you  falsely,  for  my  sake:  Rejoice  and  be  exceeding 
glad;  for  great  is  your  reward  in  heaven;  for  so  per- 
secuted they  the  prophets  which  were  before  you.  Ye 
are  the  salt  of  the  earth." 

The  sick  man  was  once  again  in  the  grip  of  his 
lunatic  visions.  Hoffmann  watched  him  for  a  little 
while  and  then  became  engrossed  once  again  in  his 
newspaper.  He  had  often  heard  patients  carry  on 
conversations  with  themselves  in  this  way.  Although 
the  horror  of  Stim's  ravings  surpassed  those  of  his 
previous  experience,  the  warder  did  not  allow  himself 
to  be  unduly  exercised  as  the  words  flowed,  now 
monotonously  and  slowly,  now  in  a  violent  and  spas- 
modic rush,  from  the  madman's  lips. 

"Where  am  I  ?" 

"You  are  Theodore  Picard,  cure  of  Seuries.  The 
soutane  suits  you  well.  You  look  every  inch  a  priest 
I  hope  your  heart  is  pure.  Look  around  you.  What 
do  you  see?" 

"Wonderful  peace!" 

"Peace  indeed.  In  the  valley,  cottages  and  houses, 
on  the  gentle  hills  fruit  trees  and  the  ripening  corn; 
below  you,  red  roofs  plumed  with  the  smoke  of  cot- 
tage fires ;  to  your  right  the  shepherd,  followed  by  his 
dog,  crossing  the  heath.    In  this  little  village  are  six 

us 


in 


146  THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH 

hundred  souls  who  know  and  love  each  other,  who 
have  their  little  quarrels,  their  joys  and  sorrows,  their 
illnesses  and  even  their  sins.  Six  hundred  souls  en- 
trusted to  your  care,  Theodore  Picard,  and  that  is 
Seuries.  The  village  lies  between  the  Sambre  and  the 
Meuse,  near  Florennes  in  Belgium,  between  the  two 
roads  of  which  one  leads  through  Romeree  to  Marien- 
bourg  and  the  other  through  Merlemont  to  Philippe- 
ville  and  the  north.  That  is— or  rather  that  was 
Seuries." 

"Why 'was/ Mabel  ?" 

'Because  what  you  now  see  is  only  memory." 
'Where  am  I  now,  then?" 

'You  are  in  your  presbytery,  sitting  in  your  study, 
thinking  over  the  sermon  that  to-morrow  morning  you 
will  deliver  in  the  tiny  church  for  the  good  of  your 
parishioners'  souls.  It  is  an  earnest  and  sad  sermon, 
because  the  enemy  is  in  the  land  and  because  there 
have  been  burnings  just  north  of  Dinant.  Burnings, 
do  you  hear?" 

"Yes  I  heard  'burnings/  Mabel.  Who  is  with  me 
in  the  house  ?" 

"Your  eighty-year-old  mother,  cure,  who  can  hardly 
walk  and  whom  they  will  have  to  push  out  to  see  the 
shooting.  ..." 

"To  see  the  shooting  .  .  .  ?    My  old  mother  .  .  .  ?" 

"Yes,  cure.  But  be  of  good  heart,  for  you  will  have 
great  reward  in  heaven." 

"And  who  else?" 

"Your  two  sisters,  the  unmarried  one  Therese,  who 
keeps  house  for  you,  and  your  married  sister  who  has 
fled  to  you  with  her  four  children,  because  her  home 
has  been  burned." 

"Who  is  that  boy  yonder,  Mabel?" 

"That  is  your  nephew,  Georges.  He  is  fourteen 
years  old," 


m- 


«1 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  147 

"But  surely  not  also  this  child  .  .  .  ?" 

"Certainly ;  also  the  child.  For  they  say  that  a  girl 
of  fifteen  shot  their  colonel.'* 

The  madman  made  one  of  his  convulsive  efforts  to 
cover  his  eyes  with  his  hands,  but  once  again  the  strait 
waistcoat  prevented  him.  Suddenly  he  screamed  and 
even  Hoffmann,  despite  all  his  nonchalance,  felt  a 
chill  of  terror  strike  through  his  heart. 

Tire!    Fire!    Look,  Mabel!    What  is  burning?'* 

'Dinant  is  burning,  cure,  and  Gerpinnes  and  Rosee. 
.  .  .  Little  villages  like  Seuries  left  in  flames  and  heaps 
of  ashes  by  the  advancing  enemy.  He  is  coming  now, 
the  enemy.     You  had  better  flee." 

"But  flee  where  to,  Mabel?    Into  the  cellar?" 

"Into  the  cellar  if  you  like,  cure.  It  makes  little 
difference,  for  they  are  coming  .  .  .  coming  .  .  .  and 
they  will  find  you  wherever  you  hide  yourself,  you,  and 
your  mother  and  your  sisters  and  the  children.  .  .  . 
They  will  find  them  all." 

"And  when  they  have  found  us?" 

"They  will  take  you  out  to  the  cross-roads,  to  the 
cross-roads,  where  the  little  pack  road  goes  down  be- 
tween high  banks  .  .  .  quite  near  the  rise  in  the 
ground,  from  which  one  can  look  right  over  to 
Romeree.'* 

"And  that  is  where  it  will  happen  ?'* 

"Yes ;  from  that  little  rise  you  will  watch  the  bodies 
toppling  one  after  another  down  the  bank  into  the 
pack  road — ^and  you  remember  how  lovely  the  banks 
are  with  flowers  in  spring  time.  ..." 

"Be  silent!    For  God's  sake,  be  silent.'* 

"That  will  be  all— except  perhaps  you  will  yourself 
get  a  blow  on  the  head  with  a  rifle  butt,  if  you  are 
still  alive.  .  .  .  '* 

Stim  fell  on  his  knees  as  though  he  had  been  struck. 
Hoffmann,  whose  nerves  were  getting  out  of  control. 


..  'iV  ft77''<^^S^;^7  Jv??r 


148  THE    SHIP   OF   DEATH 

looked  anxiously  toward  the  door  and  then  at  his 
watch.  He  shook  his  head  in  disappointment.  It 
was  not  yet  time  for  the  rehef  to  come;  and  yet  it 
seemed  that  he  had  been  for  hours  in  this  terrible  cell. 

Stirn  began  again,  in  the  shrill  whimpering  voice 
of  a  sick  child. 

"I  am  in  the  cellar  now,  Mabel.  They  are  coming. 
.  .  .  They  are  knocking  on  the  door.  .  .  .  They  are 
calling.  .  .  .  God  have  mercy  on  us!  The  door  is 
breaking  in.  .  .  .  See  the  flames  outside  dancing  on 
the  cellar  wall !" 

"They  are  the  flames  of  Seuries,  Theodore  Picard, 
the  flames  of  a  hundred  and  thirty  houses  out  of  the 
hundred  and  forty  that  make  up  the  little  village  you 
have  dwelt  in  for  so  long.  Also  the  church  is  burn- 
ing and  the  schoolhouse." 

"I  am  dazzled!" 

"Dazzled  perhaps,  cure,  but  not  blinded.  Men  are 
not  merciful  and  it  is  decreed  that  you  shall  see  every- 
thing." 

"What  is  that  crowd  there,  Mabel,  being  driven 
along  the  burning  street  ?" 

"Your  parishioners,  cure,  the  six  hundred  souls  of 
the  parish  at  Seuries,  hounded  from  the  ruins  of  their 
homes  to  the  edge  of  the  sunken  pack  road  to  pay  in 
blood  the  penalty  for  the  fault  of  the  girl  who  shot 
the  colonel." 

"Will  they  all  be  shot,  Mabel?" 

"Every  one.  .  .  .  Men,  women,  children,  you  your- 
self, cure  .  .  .  the  law  of  war  demands  it." 

Huddled  on  the  floor  Stirn  crouched  as  though  he 
were  being  beaten  with  whips. 

"But  I  have  done  nothing,  Mabel!  Nothing  but 
good  to  everyone !" 

"They  have  none  of  them  done  anything,  cure,  but 
your  enemies  say  that  the  more  hideous  war  is  made 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  149 

the  more  quickly  it  will  be  over.  Come !  Get  up,  you 
must  go  out  to  the  ordeal  by  blood !" 

The  madman  tottered  toward  the  cell  door,  stumbled 
and  fell  at  the  warder's  feet.  Then  he  seized  in  his 
arms  an  extra  mattress  that  lay  in  the  comer,  and 
dragged  it  back  with  him  to  the  other  side  of  the  room. 

"Where  have  you  gone  to,  Mabel?  I  do  not  see 
you  any  more.  This  is  a  German  non-commissioned 
officer !     Where  are  you,  Mabel  ?" 

"Forward!" 

"Mercy,  I  can  hardly  walk !    Theodore !  help  me !" 

*'My  old  mother's  voice !     Mother  ...!'* 

"Get  on,  woman!    Don't  babble!'* 

"And  the  children,  too,  cure.  .  ,  .  They  are  all  be- 
ing dragged  out  to  the  little  rise  above  the  pack  road. 
You  are  on  the  way  to  your  Golgotha,  Theodore  Pic- 
ard!" 

"Your  voice  again,  Mabel !    Where  are  you  ?" 

Stim's  eyes  lit  up  suddenly  and  he  said :  "And  they 
took  Jesus  and  led  him  away.  And  he,  bearing  his 
cross,  went  forth  into  a  place  called  the  place  of  a  skull 
which  is  called  in  the  Hebrew,  Golgotha;  where  they 
crucified  Him  and  two  others  with  Him,  on  either 
side  one  and  Jesus  in  the  midst." 

"You  do  well  to  think  of  Him,  priest!** 

It  seemed  as  though  for  the  moment  the  sick  man 
grew  actually  calmer.  His  voice  took  on  a  tone  of 
hopeless  resignation  and  he  stood  upright,  his  hands 
crossed  as  though  they  were  fettered,  a  light  that 
seemed  almost  divine  in  his  haggard  ash-colored  face. 

"The  man  over  there  in  the  uniform  is  reading  the 
sentence  of  death  aloud.  He  says  that  all  of  us  ought 
to  be  shot  but  that  the  court-martial  in  its  mercy  has 
decided  only  to  shoot  the  men  and  to  regard  the  women 
as  prisoners  of  war.  The  sexes  are  now  to  be  sepa- 
rated. .  .  .  Listen,  Mabel !    Do  you  hear  the  noise  of  a 


I50  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

great  flood?  Now  it  seems  more  like  the  noise  of 
damned  souls  wailing  on  the  banks  of  Acheron  .  .  . !" 

"The  sounds  you  hear,  cure,  are  the  tears  of  the 
women  and  children  of  Seuries,  torn  from  their  hus- 
bands and  fathers  and  condemned  to  look  on  at  the 
murder  of  their  men.  .  .  .  You  are  among  those  men, 
Theodore  Picard." 

"Whose  voice  is  that,  Mabel,  that  I  hear  now  ?" 

"Your  sister's  voice,  cure." 

"Let  my  husband  free!  He  is  innocent!  We  do 
not  belong  to  Seuries  at  all  ... !  I  can  prove  that 
he  does  not  belong  to  Seuries  .  .  . !" 

"You  see,  cure,  their  only  answer  is  to  thrust  him 
among  the  doomed  men." 

"I  hear  a  child  crying,  Mabel." 

"It  is  your  little  niece  Antoinette,  cure,  and  she  is 
crying  because  her  father  is  going  to  be  shot.  Listen 
to  her  crying  for  her  father,  cure.  ..." 

The  next  words  spoken  by  the  sick  man  had  actu- 
ally a  note  of  childish  shrillness,  as  though  his  poor 
tortured  brain  was  for  the  moment  young  again. 

"Papa,  papa  .  .  .  !  Forgive  me  when  you  get  to 
heaven  that  I  was  ever  naughty  .  .  . !" 

"I  have  nothing  to  forgive,  Antoinette.  You  were 
always  a  sweet  child.  ..." 

To  the  warder's  horror  he  saw  the  sick  man's  eyes 
fixed  upon  him  and  slowly  glazing  with  tears.  Then 
Stirn  broke  into  an  agony  of  sobbing,  for  he  \vas  un- 
dergoing the  actual  torture  of  the  father  torn  from  his 
wife  and  child, 

"What  are  they  doing  with  the  boy,  Mabel  ?  What 
are  they  doing  with  little  Georges  ?" 

"One  kind-hearted  fellow  tried  to  set  him  free  but 
they  have  thrust  him  back  now  among  those  who  are 
to  be  shot.  Listen  to  his  voice,  cure,  cutting  the  air 
like  a  sharp  knife.    Listen  to  his  boyish  voice.  . 


>» 


THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH  151 

"I  am  so  young  .  .  . !    I  am  too  young  to  die  .  .  . !" 

"Hark  to  those  cries,  Mabel,  cries  to  rouse  the  dead 
from  their  graves !" 

"They  are  the  cries  of  your  mother  and  your  sister, 
cure.  Even  one  of  the  rough  soldiers  over  there  turns 
away  to  wipe  his  eyes.  Even  he  weeps  at  the  terrible 
duty  he  must  perform.  For  he  is  young  and  he  has 
a  mother  at  home  and  he  can  still  weep.  But  that 
woman  over  there,  standing  with  the  dry  eyes,  has  no 
more  tears." 

"Why  has  she  no  more  tears,  Mabel  ?" 

"Because  to-day  she  has  seen  her  three  sons  shot 
before  her  eyes,  cure,  and  the  mother  who  sees  such 
a  sight  as  that  cannot  weep,  for  horror  has  killed  her 
tears.  Her  eyes  are  like  those  of  the  mother's  whose 
children  were  drowned  on  the  Gigantic,  cure.  .  .  . 
Her  eyes  are  like  my  eyes,  cure  .  .  . !" 

"Look,  Mabel,  they  are  drawing  the  victims  up  in 
a  line !    Already  they  are  raising  their  rifles  to  fire !" 

"Not  yet,  cure." 

"Shoot  us  also  .  .  . !  For  pity's  sake  shoot  us 
also!" 

"What  voices  are  those,  Mabel  ?" 

"The  women  of  Seuries,  cure,  are  wailing  that  they 
may  be  allowed  to  die  with  their  men.  .  .  .  And  the 
men  are  standing  close  by  your  side  (for  you  are  one 
of  them,  Theodore  Picard),  trying  to  signal  with  their 
bound  hands  to  their  wives  and  children,  taking  a 
last  farewell.  .  .  .  They  were  your  parishioners,  cure, 
and  they  are  dying  bravely.  .  .  .  You  will  die  as 
bravely  as  the  other  men  of  Seuries,  Theodore  Pic- 
ard?" 

"I  will,  Mabel.     Father  into  Thy  hands  ..." 

The  madman  suddenly  broke  into  an  uncanny,  sob- 
bing laugh,  which  changed  eerily  into  the  shrill  cry 
of  a  child. 


-y-s^;! 


152  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

"Father  forgive  them,  for  they  know  not  what  they 
do.  ..." 

"They  have  wounded  you,  cure,  but  not  mortally. 
The  finishing  touch  is  still  to  come.  ..." 

"The  finishing  touch!"  gasped  the  wretched  man, 
now  crouched  on  the  mattress  floor. 

"The  blow  on  the  head  with  the  rifle  butt,  like  a 
beast  in  the  slaughter  house." 

"The  blow  is  falling,  Mabel.  God  .  .  . !  God  in 
heaven  .  .  . !" 

With  a  loud  cry,  as  though  he  had  been  struck  vio- 
lently with  an  axe,  Stirn  crumpled  up  on  the  floor. 
The  warder  hurried  to  the  motionless  figure. 

"He  is  still  alive,"  murmured  Hoffmann.  "Prob- 
ably he  will  come  to  again  in  a  minute  or  two.  .  .  . 
Only  a  quarter  past  ten!" 


Y 


CHAPTER   III 

**  ^*'  '^OU  look  very  smart,  poilu,  in  your  clean,  new 
uniform,  with  your  red  trousers !  You  have 
been  mentioned  in  despatches  and  you  have 
eight  days'  leave  to  go  to  Paris  and  see  your  wife  and 
children." 

"Who  am  I,  Mabel  ?" 

"Armand  Didier  of  the  134th,  and  you  have  won 
distinction  on  the  Marne." 

Stirn's  movements  became  extraordinary.  He 
seemed  to  be  clothing  himself  and  smoothing  down 
the  folds  of  tunic  and  trousers.  But  the  strait  waist- 
coat made  his  movements  cramped  and  ridiculous.  He 
did  not  seem  to  notice  the  hindrance  and,  even  when 
he  stumbled  and  fell  on  to  the  floor,  remained  absorbed 
in  the  new  occupation  forced  on  him  by  his  madness. 

Hoffmann  withdrew  his  eyes  and  sat  brooding  in  his 
chair.  Fortunate  that  he  was  such  an  old  hand  at 
this  kind  of  game  .  .  . !  How  this  war  brutalized 
men!  What  was  the  good  of  showing  pity  for  one 
unhappy  individual  among  the  millions  who  were  be- 
ing destroyed?  This  wretched  creature  before  him 
was  only  one  of  a  thousand,  of  ten  thousand,  of  a 
hundred  thousand  cases  equally  horrible,  many  per- 
haps more  horrible. 

"Others  have  leave  besides  me?" 

"Certainly!  Moissonier  of  the  7th  Company  and 
Renard  from  the  9th  and  your  friend  Faucon  from  the 
3d,  and  many  others  whom  you  do  not  know  but  who 
will  travel  with  you  to  Paris.  And  you  will  sing  on 
the  journey — ^you  will  sing  the  Marseillaise  and  you 
will  all  be  merry  together.  . 

^53 


** 


154  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

Stim  broke  into  quavering  song: 

"Allons  enfants  de  la  patrie, 
Le  jour  de  gloire  est  arrive !" 

Like  a  fiendish  mockery  of  freedom  the  song  echoed 
from  the  walls  of  the  isolation  cell. 

"You  are  in  the  train  now,  poilu.  Listen  to  the 
grinding  of  the  wheels  and  the  puffing  of  the  engine. 
.  .  .  There  goes  the  whistle !" 

A  sudden  shrill  whistle  came  from  the  madman's 
lips, 

"No  more  heaps  of  corpses,  no  more  drum  fire,  no 
more  shrapnel,  no  more  bombs.  .  .  .  For  eight  days 
peace  and  quiet,  poilu,  for  you  are  unwounded  and 
you  are  going  to  Paris  to  see  your  wife  and  children." 

Stim's  laughter  was  almost  more  ghastly  than  his 
crying.  The  warder  shuddered,  as  the  lunatic  peals 
of  delight  echoed  in  his  ears. 

"I  shall  soon  be  in  the  little  flat  up  under  the  roof 
in  the  Rue  Lafayette,  and  I  have  not  seen  my  wife 
since  that  terrible  third  of  August,  the  day  of  the  mo- 
bilization." 

"True,  poilu,  you  have  not  seen  your  wife  nor  your 
two  little  girls,  Marthe  and  Yvonne.  They  are  five 
and  three  now,  poilu.  And  your  old  parents  have 
come  into  Paris  from  Argenteuil,  for  they  are  very 
proud  of  you  and  they  have  read  in  the  Petit  Parisien 
your  name  in  the  list  of  names  mentioned  in 
despatches." 

"It  is  nearly  time  we  arrived,  Mabel !" 

"Here  is  the  Paris  station,  poilu.  Your  wife  is  wait- 
ing for  you  on  the  platform. 

"Henriette!" 

Pathetic  and  terrible  was  the  gesture  of  the  sick  man 
as  he  embraced  the  mattress  and  pressed  it  to  him. 
He  covered  the  soiled  leather  with  kisses,  murmuring : 


THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH  155 

"Henriette  .  .  .  !  Henriette  .  .  . !"  And  then  the 
names  of  his  children  in  a  confused  stream  of  tears 
and  laughter. 

"Hop,  hop,  hop,  hop,  hop,  hop!" 

"Va  mon  petit  cheval  au  galop!" 

Clumsily  he  gestured,  as  though  he  were  jigging  a 
child  upon  his  Imee. 

"Are  they  not  beautiful  children,  Mabel?  Are  they 
not  sharp  and  clever?  Tell  the  beautiful  lady  the 
story  of  Christmas,  Yvonne.  .  .  .  Mabel,  she  is  only 
three  years  old,  and  yet  she  can  tell  the  story  of  Christ- 
mas without  a  mistake.  All  about  the  manger  and  the 
beasts  and  the  star  and  the  three  kings.  .  .  .  Tell  the 
beautiful  lady  the  story,  Yvonne.  ..." 

"You*ve  got  a  beard,  papa !" 

"She  notices  that !  That's  why  they  call  me  poilu, 
Yvonne.    There  is  no  time  to  shave  in  the  trenches." 

"Let  us  go  home,  Armand.     Folk  are  staring  at  us." 

"Come  along,  Henriette!  Come  along,  diildren! 
Here's  the  omnibus." 

To  the  best  of  his  lunatic  ability  Stim  imitated  the 
sound  and  movements  of  the  omnibus  lumbering 
through  the  streets  of  Paris. 

"There  is  coffee  ready  at  home,  Armand;  coffee  and 
brioches  .  .  . !" 

Evidently  the  little  flat  had  now  been  reached. 
Stim  smacked  his  lips  and  carried  imaginary  cakes  to 
his  mouth.  He  distributed  brioches  to  his  children. 
With  expressions  of  pleasure,  he  drank  the  coffee  and 
smoked  a  cigarette. 

"It  is  dark  now,  Henriette.     What  is  the  time?" 

"Ten  o'clock,  Armand,  and  the  children  have  been 
in  bed  some  hours." 

*Have  father  and  mother  gone  already?" 
They  have  gone  back  to  Argenteuil,  Armand,  and 
we  are  all  alone  with  the  children." 


"] 

it' 


r"''^'^S*i!:?''^^if:   '-/x-Wrf' 


156  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

Stirn  walked  to  the  wall  of  the  cell,  and  motioned 
as  though  he  were  fastening  the  window. 

"What  are  they  doing  down  there,  Henriette?  Why- 
are  all  the  people  crowding  at  the  windows?" 

"They  are  waiting,  as  they  do  every  night,  for  the 
Zeppelins.  The  Boches  are  always  talking  in  their 
papers  about  frightening  Paris  with  the  Zeppelins, 
and  so  they  come  and  it  is  rather  horrible  but  very 
beautiful  and  the  next  morning  one  reads  in  the  papers 
that  there  have  been  so  or  so  many  casualties  .  .  . 
women  and  children  .  .  .  and  then  it  is  very  sad,  ..." 

"Little  children,  Henriette  .  .  .  ?  Like  Marthe  and 
Yvonne  .  .  .  ?    Let  us  go  and  see  them  asleep." 

Stirn  tiptoed  across  the  floor  of  the  cell  and  then 
bent  forward  with  a  smile  of  happiness  on  his  face, 
as  though  he  were  leaning  over  the  children's  beds. 

"They  are  sleeping  like  little  angels,  Henriette. 
Hark,  what  is  that?" 

"The  purr  of  the  Zeppelin  engines." 

"They  sound  directly  over  our  heads,  Henriette!" 

Stumbling  back  across  the  cell,  he  hurried  to  the 
imaginary  window  at  which  he  had  stood  a  moment 
before. 

"The  windows  are  crowded  with  people!  Listen! 
They  must  be  directly  over  our  heads !" 

"They  are  over  your  head,  poilu,  and  that  is  why 
you  have  come  on  leave  from  the  front  to  Paris,  you 
who  have  been  mentioned  in  despatches.  ..." 

The  madman  suddenly  broke  into  a  feverish  dance. 
Rushing  from  side  to  side  of  the  cell,  he  gesticulated 
with  his  arms  and  then  seemed  to  crouch  over  the  chil- 
dren's beds^  as  though  hoping  to  protect  them  with  his 
body. 

"Where  have  you  gone,  Henriette?  It  is  not  you 
any  more.  ...  It  is  Mabel!" 

"Yes,  it  is  I,  poilu.     I,  Mabel  Roade,  whose  child 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  157 

was  drowned  in  the  Atlantic.  .  .  .  But  you  are  still 
Armand  Didier,  and  over  the  Rue  Lafayette,  over  your 
little  home,  over  the  heads  of  Marthe  and  Yvonne, 
hovers  a  Zeppelin,  a  Zeppelin  with  its  devilish  bombs, 
fire  and  sulphur,  Sodom  and  Gomorrah,  poised  above 
the  heads  of  your  sleeping  children!  Your  own  peo- 
ple ..  .  your  own  people.  .  .  .  Just  as  the  Gigantic 
sank  in  the  swirl  of  the  ocean,  just  as  the  little  boat  in 
which  I  was  taking  my  child  to  safety,  crashed  to  pieces 
on  the  side  of  the  doomed  vessel,  so  now,  hovering 
over  your  house  in  Paris,  Zeppelins  .  .  . !  There  go 
the  bombs,  poilu!  There  are  the  g^ns  roaring  their 
futile  challenge  to  the  invaders.  .  .  .  Like  a  judgment 
of  heaven  from  the  vastness  of  the  sky  the  whirring 
of  the  engines,  the  deep  thud  of  the  falling  bombs  .  .  . 
Zeppelins  .  .  .  Zeppelins  .  .  . !  Bombs  on  the  heads 
of  Marthe  and  Yvonne  .  .  . !  Bombs  on  the  heads  of 
little  children,  sleeping  like  angels  .  .  . !  You  under- 
stand me,  poilu?" 

Stirn  sank  on  his  knees  and  bowed  his  head  to  the 
floor.  Then  he  looked  up,  panic-stricken,  and  gazed 
terrified  at  the  ceiling  of  the  cell,  for  in  his  madness  he 
was  gazing  at  the  quiet  night  sky  over  Paris.  Before 
him  stretched  the  city,  the  sea  of  houses  with  towers, 
domes  and  chimneys,  the  Trocadero,  the  Pantheon, 
the  Madeleine  and,  high  on  Montmartre,  the  Sacre 
Coeur.  All  the  while,  cruising  over  this  helpless  scene, 
the  huge  birds  of  darkness,  with  their  hideous  bombs. 
.  .  .  The  sick  man  broke  into  stammering  prayer.  He 
pleaded  for  the  innocence  of  his  children,  pleaded  to 
the  Mother  of  God.  He  struggled  to  his  feet  and  beat 
himself  against  the  wall  of  the  cell.  He  was  trying  to 
force  open  the  door  of  the  bedroom  in  which  the  chil- 
dren slept.  The  door  seemed  to  stick.  He  kicked  the 
mattressed  wall  with  his  foot  and  began  crying  a  con- 
fused jumble  of  words,  prayers,  quotations,  curses. 


158  THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH 


<£ 


^: 


"Macbeth  hath  murdered  sleep  .  .  . !  Macbeth  shall 
never  sleep  again  .  .  . !  Are  you  there,  Mabel  ?  Lis- 
ten to  the  crashes!  Listen  to  the  plaster  falling  and 
the  house  walls  cracking  and  crumbling.  .  .  .  Bombs 
.  .  .  !  bombs  in  the  Rue  Lafayette  .  .  .  !" 

The  madman's  shriek  brought  the  warder  to  his 
feet.  Although  he  knew  that  he  could  do  nothing,  he 
hurried  toward  the  patient  and  laid  a  hand  upon  his 
mouth.  But  his  arm  was  thrown  off  with  a  violent 
gesture  and  the  terrible  cry  broke  out  once  more. 

"The  bomb's  fallen  .  .  .  fallen  on  my  sleeping  chil- 
dren .  .  .!  What  is  that  you  have  in  your  hands, 
Mabel?  Why  are  your  hands  dripping  with 
blood?" 

"I  am  holding  what  is  left  of  your  children,  Ar- 
mand." 

The  madman  reached,  as  though  he  would  spue  out 
his  very  entrails. 

"Merely  a  mass  of  smoking,  pulpy  flesh,  Mabel. 
Take  it  back  to  the  slaughter  house  from  whence  you 
have  got  it  .  .  . !  Take  it  back,  the  flesh  and  frag- 
ments of  bones  .  .  . !" 

"Your  children,  poilu,  to  see  whom  you  hurried  back 
from  the  front.  .  .  .  Atrius's  deed  was  a  joke  com- 
pared to  this,  poilu.  .  .  .  Look  for  the  last  time  on 
your  children !  Look  for  the  last  time  on  Marthe  and 
Yvonne!" 

"Cover  it  up,  Mabel!  For  God's  sake,  cover  it 
up!" 

"Not  yet,  poilu.  You  must  first  look  and  see  where 
the  flesh  is  burned  black  with  the  powder.  You  must 
see  that  the  remains  of  your  children  are  scorched 
and  burned.  .  .  .  But  the  children  drowned  from  the 
Gigantic  are  white  as  lilies  or  dyed  green  by  the  sea- 
weed. ..." 

The  madman  gave  a  convulsive  leap.     In  his  vision 


THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH  159 

he  had  been  standing-  by  the  open  window  on  the  Rue 
Lafayette,  behind  him  the  shattered  walls  of  the  house, 
and  he  thought  to  hurl  himself  into  the  street.  As  he 
fell  on  the  floor  he  lay  as  though  broken  in  two. 
Again  there  was  silence. 


7,^ 


H 


CHAPTER   IV 

"  JT  T  O^  white  everything  is,  Mabel !     My  eyes 
smart  and  burn,  so  dazzHng  is  the  white !" 
"Dazzling  perhaps,  Prochaska,  but  not  so 
dazzling  as  to  blind  you,  for  your  eyes  must  watch  the 
tragedy  played  to  its  close." 

"What  is  it  that  shines  so  dazzlingly  white,  Mabel  ?" 
"Winter  in  Poland  is  always  white,  Prochaska.     For 
ever  and  ever,  into  the  endless  distance,  stretches  the 
unbroken  snow.** 

"Snow  ...  to  endless  distance  snow.  ..." 
"And  under  the  snow,  Prochaska,  thousands  and 
thousands  of  dead  men  lying,  your  friends  and  your 
enemies,  heaps  of  corpses;  little  hills  of  slaughtered 
humanity,  Prochaska,  but  the  white  blanket  of  Polish 
snow  covers  them  and  you  cannot  see  them." 
"How  did  I  come  here,  Mabel?" 
"Like  all  the  rest,  with  your  regiment" 
"And  where  is  my  regiment  now?" 
"Smashed  to  pieces,  Prochaska,  by  the  Russian  guns. 
.  .  .  Many  are  dead  under  the  snow,  many  others  are 
on  their  way  to  Siberia,  to  captivity.    The  rest .  .  . !" 
"Am  I  also  on  my  way  to  Siberia,  Mabel  ?" 
"No,   Prochaska,   you   alone   are  left  in   Poland. 
All  the  others  have  gone  and  you,  because  you  lay  like 
a  dead  man,  have  been  forgotten.  The  snow  came  and 
covered  the  dead  bodies  of  your  comrades  and  you, 
left  there  for  dead,  have  struggled  to  the  surface. 
Officially  you  are  'missing.' " 
"And  now  what  shall  I  do?" 
"There  is  nothing  to  do  but  wait." 
"Look  I    It  is  beginning  to  snow  again !" 

x6o 


THE  SHIP  OF  DEATH  i6i 

"It  always  snows  in  Poland,  Prochaska.  How  can 
I  tell  what  will  happen  to  you  ?  Better  have  remained 
lying  as  dead,  better  not  have  scrambled  out  of  the 
white  g^ave  which  you  shared  with  so  many  of  your 
friends.  Why,  oh  why,  Prochaska,  did  you  seek  to 
rise  again  from  the  dead  that  slept  beneath  the  snow?" 

Stirn  sat  with  folded  hands.  He  seemed  to  be  wait- 
ing there,  abandoned  by  God  and  man,  his  eyes  roving 
hopelessly  over  the  eternal  snow-fields. 

"Tell  me  the  story  of  my  coming  here,  Mabel." 

"You  came  with  the  army  of  Mackensen.  Lodz  fell, 
Petrikow  fell.  As  you  advanced  Poland  became  a 
desert,  for  the  Russians,  as  they  retired,  left  burning 
villages,  houses  as  heaps  of  ashes,  dismantled  for- 
tresses, empty  bams.  .  .  .  And  you  and  your  fellows 
advanced,  Prochaska,  into  hunger  and  misery  and 
death  and  sickness.  .  .  .  For  all  these  things  are  Po- 
land, Poland  into  which  you  must  advance,  across 
which  you  must  pursue  the  Russians.  Mid-winter, 
Prochaska.  .  .  ." 

'Mid-winter.  .  .  .  And  what  of  me  ?'* 

*You  have  been  forgotten.  You  will  die  on  the 
spot  where  you  now  are." 

The  warder  sat  huddled  on  his  chair  in  the  comer 
of  the  cell.  Perhaps  he  nodded  a  little  from  weariness. 
His  head  sank  forward,  the  newspaper  slipped  from 
his  hands  to  the  floor.  With  a  start  he  pulled  him- 
self together  and,  yawning,  looked  at  his  watch. 

"Five  and  twenty  to  twelve!  Lord  how  the  time 
crawls!" 

The  madman  began  again : 

"Wherever  I  look,  Mabel,  I  see  nothing.  Not  a 
trough,  not  a  shed,  not  a  village,  not  a  church  tower, 
not  even  a  corpse.  Nothing  but  snow,  to  all  eternity, 
snow.  ..." 

'It  is  Poland  that  you  see,  Prochaska.    An  un- 


"] 


tn 


1 62  THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH 

broken  waste  of  snow  in  which  you  are  to  die.  The 
Russians  retreat  before  Mackensen,  the  towns  and  vil- 
lages bum,  the  barns  once  stocked  with  grain  go  up 
in  flame  and  smoke,  the  peasants  flee  before  your  in- 
vading army.  But  Poland  remains,  savage,  utterly 
lonely.  And  abandoned  in  the  midst  of  the  waste  one 
Polish  soldier,  Prochaska,  left  to  die  in  the  heart  of 
the  Polish  winter.  .  .  .  Forever  and  always  you  will 
stay  in  the  Polish  desert,  but  the  army  of  Mackensen 
has  gone  on." 

"And  my  mother,  Mabel,  and  the  girl  I  love  .  .  .  ?" 
"Your  mother  will  weep,  Prochaska.  At  first  she 
will  not  be  sure  whether  you  are  living  or  dead,  for 
you  are  given  out  as  missing.  At  first  she  will  have 
a  little  hope,  but  week  by  week  her  hope  will  grow 
fainter,  month  by  month  it  will  fade  and  vanish,  until 
at  last  your  mother  will  seek  comfort  in  thinking  of 
the  thousands,  the  tens  of  thousands,  the  hundreds  of 
thousands,  the  millions  of  mothers  in  Germany  and 
Austria,  whose  sons  have  gone,  never  to  return.  Like 
all  these  mothers,  she  will  bear  herself  proudly  but  in 
her  heart  she  will  weep,  for  a  mother  never  can  be 
consoled  for  the  loss  of  her  child.  That  is  why  I  was 
drowned  with  my  child  when  the  Gigantic  sank,  for 
what  use  is  life  to  a  mother  whose  child  is  gone?  And 
now  my  spirit  hovers  forever  unquiet  over  the  earth, 
the  spirit  of  outraged  motherhood,  seeking  whom  it 
may  devour.  That  is  why,  Prochaska,  my  spirit  wan- 
ders through  Poland  and  France  and  Belgium  and 
Serbia  and  England  and  Germany  and  Africa  and 
Asia,  and  every  country  of  the  globe  in  which  human 
blood  is  now  being  poured  out,  wanders  and  cries :  My 
child,  my  child,  I  will  find  my  child  again !  Ye  have 
torn  him  from  my  breast  and  I  will  find  him  again 
or  my  mother's  heart  will  cry  and  cry  until  the  day 
of  judgment." 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  163 


'What  of  the  girl  I  love,  Mabel?" 

'She  will  grieve,  Prochaska,  and  for  weeks,  per- 
haps for  months,  she  will  weep  for  you,  but  while 
mothers  sorrow  until  their  death,  young  girls  are 
rather  different  and  there  will  come  a  tiftie  when  she 
will  turn  a  favorable  eye  to  that  rival  of  yours,  whom 
once  you  hated  more  than  any  other  being  in  your  vil- 
lage, and  she  will  find  that  he  also  is  a  man  and  that 
the  dead  belong  to  the  dead." 

"Leave  me,  Mabel!  Let  me  go  I  I  must  run,  run 
until  I  find  her,  for  that  other  shall  never  have 
her  .  .  .  I" 

"Run  then,  Prochaska !    By  all  means,  run !" 

The  madman  sprang  to  his  feet,  but  the  next  mo- 
ment he  fell  full  length  on  the  floor. 

*I  cannot  run,  Mabel!" 

*No,  you  cannot  run,  because  both  your  l^s  are 
frozen.  Have  you  any  feeling  in  your  legs,  Pro- 
chaska?" 

"I  cannot  feel  them  at  all,  Mabel;  it  seems  that  I 
have  no  legs." 

"That  is  because  they  are  both  frozen.  There  is 
nothing  to  do  but  wait  and  let  the  cold  creep  slowly  on, 
slowly  .  .  .  slowly.  .  .  .  Let  it  creep  slowly  upwards 
toward  the  heart,  the  cold,  the  relentless  bitter  cold  of 
snow-bound  Poland.  ...  Or  else,  of  course  ..." 

"Or  else  what,  Mabel?" 

"Look!" 

"The  sun  is  setting!"  he  cried.  "Setting  in  an  orgy 
of  blood,  dropping  below  the  level  of  the  unending 

"The  sun  is  setting!"  he  cried.  "Setting  in  an  orgy 
of  blood,  dropping  below  the  level  of  the  unending 


"] 


snow." 


"A  beautiful  sunset,  Prochaska!" 
"Beautiful,  indeed,  Mabel.    A  symphony  of  color! 
See  the  purple  shadows  falling  across  the  snow.  .  .  . 


1 64  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

,.l.  ■       l.y—     M— »       -I     .^       .-  ■  ..—    ^— — —  I  ■■.■■■■,  ,1       ■■    ■        l.l        I  ■■■——-I.        ^.— ■..^■— ■■ I,, , 

How  white  the  snow  looks,  streaked  with  purple 
shadows  and  bounded  by  the  crimson  sky !  White  as 
grave-clothes,  white  as  peace.  .  .  .  Peace.  ..." 

"Like  the  peace  of  the  ocean,  Prochaska,  great  and 
beautiful  to  those  who  have  overcome  it;  but  as  yet 
you  have  not  overcome  Poland's  winter.  ..." 

"Listen  1  I  hear  bells,  bells,  Mabel,  the  bells  of  our 
village,  soimding  through  the  darkness  on  Christmas 
eve,  ringing  in  the  birth  of  Christ !" 

"They  are  not  the  bells  of  your  village,  Prochaska. 
They  are  the  bells  of  a  dying  man's  fancy." 

"It  is  getting  dark,  Mabel.  .  .  .  But  the  light  of 
the  moon  will  soon  strike  above  the  snowy  waste 
and  the  light  mist  will  be  silver  as  the  waves  of  the 


sea.'* 


"Silver  as  the  waves  that  now  rise  and  fall  over  the 
Gigantic' s  victims." 

Stirn  shook  himself  as  though  to  throw  a  heavy 
burden  from  his  back. 

"Why  speak  of  the  Gigantic  here,  Mabel,  here  in 
Poland  when  the  bells  are  ringing?" 

"I  speak  of  it  everywhere  and  always,  because  the 
memory  of  it  never  leaves  me.  Never  so  long  as  my 
spirit  wanders  restlessly  over  the  world,  so  long  as  it 
seeks  atonement .  .  .  everywhere  and  always.  ..." 

With  a  sob  Stim's  head  drooped  on  his  breast. 
After  a  moment's  crouching  silence  he  raised  his  eyes, 
and,  with  a  look  of  eager  happiness,  murmured : 

"The  bells  .  ,  . !  The  bells  ...  I  They  are  the 
bells  of  a  sledge,  Mabel,  coming  to  save  me,  coming 
to  take  me  from  the  hideous  loneliness  of  this  desert 
to  civilization  once  again,  for  my  legs  are  frozen  and 
I  cannot  move." 

"Perhaps  they  are  the  bells  of  a  sledge,  the  silver 
bells  of  rescue.  .  .  .  Perhaps  ..." 

"They   are  coming  nearer,   Mabel.    Cling-a-ling. 


THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH  165 

.  .  .  Like  the  bells  of  Christmas  .  .  . !  Mother's 
bells,  Mabel  .  .  . !    Christ  will  soon  be  born  ...  1" 

"Christmas  has  come  in  Germany,  come  and  gone, 
and  they  thought  of  you  and  sent  you  presents,  pres- 
ents from  your  mother,  presents  from  your  lover,  but 
you  could  not  be  found,  for  you  had  gone  far  into 
Poland  and  the  parcels  lay,  among  thousands  of  other 
parcels,  buried  in  a  dusty  corner,  and  waiting  in  vain 
to  bring  joy  to  the  eyes  of  sons  over  whose  graves 
the  eyes  of  many  mothers  have  wept  and  will  weep 
scalding  tears.  .  .  .  Parcels  for  dead  men,  Prochaska, 
parcels  for  the  missing,  parcels  for  the  mortally 
wounded,  for  the  drowned,  for  the  mad ;  poor  forsaken 
parcels,  my  gifts  and  your  mother's  gifts,  useless,  un- 
wanted, pledges  of  love  waiting  year  in,  year  out  in 
vain.  .  .  .  The  love  that  sent  them  wanders  over  the 
blood-stained  earth,  tirelessly,  eternally  and  finds  no 
resting-place,  no  welcome,  no  joy.  ..." 

"I  cannot  hear  the  bells  any  more,  Mabel!  The 
sledge  must  have  passed  by." 

"It  was  no  sledge,  Prochaska.  Not  for  years  and 
years  will  any  sledge  traverse  this  corpse-strewn  desert 
of  Poland." 

"What  were  the  bells  then,  Mabel?  I  heard  bells 
distinctly.    Tell  me  what  they  were!'* 

As  though  listening  eagerly,  Stim  sat  with  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  mattressed  wall. 

"Why  do  you  not  speak,  Mabel?  Tell  me  what  the 
bells  were!  But  now  I  hear  something  that  is  not 
the  ringing  of  bells.     I  hear  a  distant  roar." 

"The  bitter  cold  of  the  steppe,  the  bitter  cold  of 
the  snow  fields,  the  relentless  ice  of  Poland,  the  chill 
of  death,  all  these  creep  round  the  heart  and  sound  in 
the  ears,  now  like  bells,  now  like  a  distant  roar.  Those 
were  the  sounds  you  heard,  Prochaska,  the  sweet  ring- 
ing of  bells,  a  thunder  as  of  the  sea,  a  roar  of  wind 


1 66  THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH 

.  .  .  !  That  was  what  you  heard,  Prochaska  .  .  . 
death  .  .  .  death  .  .  .  death,  riding-  the  snow-storm 
and,  during  bitter  days  and  icy  nights,  traversing  the 
wastes  of  Poland  and  sharing  with  his  boon  compan- 
ion, starvation,  whatever  wretched  life  may  still  remain 
to  be  plucked  and  devoured.  .  .  .  But  besides  death 
and  starvation  there  are  others.  ..." 

"Others,  Mabel?  What  others,  ringing  over  Po- 
land in  the  company  of  death  and  starvation?  For 
pity's  sake,  tell  me  what  others  1 .  .  .  For  pity's  sake !" 

The  sick  man's  voice  was  full  of  a  terrible  pleading, 
but  to  the  warder  it  was  merely  the  babbling  of  a  luna- 
tic, the  voice  of  one  preaching  in  a  desert  to  whom 
rocks  and  sand-hills  do  not  reply.  And  still  Stim 
begged  piteously: 

"For  pity's  sake,  tell  me  who  are  the  others  .  .  .  ?" 

"Listen!    Do  you  hear  nothing?" 

"No." 

"Do  you  see  nothing?" 

"No." 

"Nothing  in  the  shimmer  of  the  moonlight?  Noth- 
ing under  the  uncertain  sparkle  of  the  stars,  that  pow- 
der the  sky  of  this  Polish  winter?  Are  you  sure  that 
you  see  nothing?  .  .  ." 

"Nothing,  Mabel,  nothing!" 

"Then  listen !  Are  you  sure  you  cannot  hear  it,  the 
long  drawn  wail,  the  howling  carried  on  the  quiet  of 
the  night,  the  uncanny  cry  of  hunger,  rising  and  fall- 
ing, sounding  over  the  ice  and  snow  from  the  distant 
forests  ?  Do  you  not  hear  the  cry  for  food,  the  cry  of 
the  night  robbers  of  Russia  and  Poland  who  feed  on 
the  bodies  of  the  dead  and  the  wounded  and  the  miss- 
ing .  .  .  ?  The  missing,  Prochaska,  and  the  wounded 
who  cannot  drag  themselves  away  .  .  . !  Can  you  not 
see  over  there  in  the  shadows  of  the  wood-pile  .  .  . 
there,  where  the  black  shadow  of  the  birch  trees  falls 


THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH  167 

across  the  snow  .  .  .  ?  Can  you  not  see  them,  one, 
two .  .  .  three  .  .  .  ?  almost  a  pack  .  .  .  look  some 
more  .  .  .  and  more  .  .  .  snuffing  the  air  with  their 
muzzles  raised  to  heaven,  lusting  after  the  scent  of 
blood  and  corpses  on  which  to  feed.  .  .  .  The  wolves 
.  .  .  !  The  wolves  .  .  . !  Do  you  not  hear  them? 
Can  you  not  see  them,  Prochaska  ?" 

The  madman  sprang  to  his  feet  with  a  desperate 
shriek.  Hoffmann  started  and  was  about  to  run  to  the 
patient,  when  he  saw  that  Stim  had  once  more  sunk 
down  into  his  corner.  Convinced  in  his  raving  that 
both  legs  were  frozen  and  that  he  was  not  able  to  move, 
he  lay  where  he  was  motionless,  trembling,  with  star- 
ing eyes,  making  fumbling  gestures  with  his  arms  as 
though  in  self-defense. 

"The  wolves  .  .  . !  The  wolves !  The  wolves  are 
coming  ...  I  For  God's  sake,  keep  away  .  .  .  away 
.  .  .  !  I  am  still  alive  .  .  . !  God  in  heaven,  keep 
them  away  .  .  . !" 

It  was  all  that  Hoffmann  could  do  to  maintain  con- 
trol of  his  nerves.  The  patient's  stuttering  turned  to 
a  sobbing  cry  and  then  rose  gradually  into  a  howl,  half- 
human,  half-animal.  For  a  moment  the  warder  stood 
uncertain  whether  to  ring  for  help  or  to  stand  by 
patiently  and  see  what  happened,  waiting  for  the  fit  to 
pass  away.  Already  the  madman  felt  the  warm 
nuzzling  of  the  wolves  against  his  trembling  body, 
already  he  felt  the  first  sharp  bite  of  their  teeth,  al- 
ready their  foul  breath  made  him  stifle  and  choke.  At 
once  in  agony  and  hideously  conscious,  he  knew  that 
he  was  being  eaten  alive.  At  last  he  lay  silent  and 
without  movement.  With  a  cloth  the  warder  wiped 
the  sweat  from  the  patient's  forehead,  who  now  lay 
utterly  exhausted,  and,  for  a  space  at  any  rate,  at  peace. 


T 


CHAPTER   V 

"f  I  iHE  vultures,  the  vultures!    See  how  the  vul- 
tures circle  above  my  head !" 
With  this  cry  of  terror  the  madman  started 
once  more  out  of  apathy. 

Hoffmann  shook  his  head.  In  all  his  varied  ex- 
perience he  had  never  had  a  patient  of  this  kind.  Damn 
the  war !  To  think  that  this  man,  the  only  war- victim 
the  warder  had  yet  supervised,  was  nevertheless  in- 
finitely the  most  trying  patient  of  a  life-time!  He 
shuddered  a  little  as  Stirn  broke  out  once  more : 

"Mabel !  Drive  them  away,  the  vultures,  that  circle 
ceaselessly  above  my  head  I" 

"They  are  waiting  to  pick  at  the  shreds  of  flesh 
which  will  still  cling  to  your  skeleton,  even  after  you 
are  dead  of  hunger." 

"Who  am  I  ?  Why  should  the  vultures  wait  for  me 
to  die?" 

"You  are  Casparian  Zorab,  the  schoolmaster  at 
Geben,  driven  with  the  rest  of  your  people  at  the  order 
of  the  Turks  into  the  desert,  hounded  on  by  the  Kurds 
and  Arab  bands." 

"Where  am  I  now  ?" 

"You  are  in  Dar  el  Zor,  that  veritable  hell-mouth  at 
the  entry  of  the  Arabian  desert,  that  chasm  behind 
Aleppo  in  which  you  and  your  people  will  die  of  heat 
and  drought  and  starvation." 

A  sudden  cry  of  pain  broke  from  the  madman. 

"Those  of  us  who  have  come  so  far  .  .  . !  For  now 
I  remember  what  happened  on  the  way!" 

"It  was  a  long  journey,  Casparian." 

"For  thirty-two  days,  Mabel,  we  were  driven  by  the 

x68 


THE    SHIP    OF   DEATH  169 

Kurds  through  the  burning  sunshine,  until  they  handed 
us  over  to  the  tender  mercies  of  the  Bedouins — ^the 
Bedouins  are  even  more  cruel  than  the  Kurds, 
Mabel.  ..." 

"And  life  was  sweet,  at  home  in  Geben?" 

"Sweet,  indeed,  until  they  came.  .  .  .  Until  the 
Turks  came  with  orders  from  Constantinople  that  we 
were  to  be  driven  out  of  Geben,  driven  from  our 
homes  .  .  . !  How  horribly  clear  is  the  memory  of 
that  day!  We  were  all  marshaled  in  the  street  in 
front  of  our  houses,  I  and  my  wife  Rachel  and  my 
daughter  Lydia  and  my  son  Reuben  and  all  my  friends 
with  their  wives  and  children  .  .  .  every  soul  in 
Geben." 

"Every  soul,  Casparian?" 

"In  so  far  as  they  had  not  already  been  murdered, 
Mabel." 

"Murdered!" 

"There  were  many,  of  whom  it  was  said  that  they 
had  tried  to  evade  military  service.  .  .  five  thousand 
of  them.  .  .  .  We  were  disarmed,  Mabel,  driven  to- 
gether like  sheep;  from  our  number  the  strong  men 
and  youths  were  chosen  and  taken  off  to  jail.  .  .  J* 

"You  are  sure  they  went  to  jail,  Casparian?" 

A  terrible  laugh  from  the  madman  caused  the 
warder  to  look  up.  At  once  revolted  and  fascinated, 
Hoffmann  sat  and  listened. 

"It  was  a  lie,  of  course,  Mabel.  They  gave  out  that 
the  men  were  going  to  prison  but  the  Turkish  police 
were  all  Kurds  in  disguise  and  they  took  the  five  thou- 
sand down  into  the  valley  that  lies  just  beyond  the 
village  and  ..." 

"And?" 

".  .  .  Merely  another  massacre.  .  .  ." 

"The  whole  five  thousand!" 

"The  whole  five  thousand.    They  waded  in  blood. 


I70  THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH 

.  .  .  It  is  called  the  valley  of  the  red  rocks  now,  Mabel, 
that  little  valley  just  beyond  Geben.^ 

"And  what  did  they  do  to  you  ?" 

Helplessly,  as  though  looking  despairingly  for  as- 
sistance, the  madman's  eye  roved  horror-glazed  over 
the  padded  wall.  At  last  a  single  word  came  from  his 
lips. 

"Bastinado  !'* 

"And  with  your  feet  thus  mangled,  Casparian,  you 
set  out  through  the  burning  sunshine  for  the  Arabian 
desert  ?" 

"For  the  Arabian  desert,  Mabel,  where  the  vultures 
are  waiting;  for  the  barren  plateau  of  rock  near  Dar 
el  Zor.  .  .  .  Do  you  hear  the  Euphrates  rushing  over 
there,  Mabel?  No  longer  can  one  drink  the  waters 
of  the  Euphrates.  ...  In  the  desert  man  dies  of  thirst, 
Mabel.  As  for  food,  there  is  the  grass.  .  .  .  For  days 
and  days  I  have  eaten  grass.  ...  I  cannot  go  farther, 
I  cannot  even  rise  from  the  ground.  The  others  over 
there  are  quarreling  over  the  grains  which  they  can 
sometimes  pick  from  the  droppings  of  the  dromedaries 
and  the  Arab  horses  .  .  .  there  is  nothing  else  to  eat, 
Mabel,  and  the  waters  of  the  Euphrates  are  far  away. 
Even  if  they  were  at  hand  they  are  no  longer  yellow, 
they  are  red.  .  .  .  Red  with  the  blood  of  my  murdered 
kinsmen  studded  with  corpses.  .  .  .  The  bodies  of 
those  thousands  who  have  fallen  on  the  banks  of  the 
Euphrates  were  not  cremated,  Mabel.  They  lay,  those 
bodies — Christian  bodies,  or  Mohammedan  bodies,  who 
knows? — ^thousand  upon  thousand  mutilated  and  in- 
fecting the  air  of  Mesopotamia,  for  there  was  no  one 
to  bum  them." 

"The  corpses  stink  to  heaven,  Casparian ;  their  smell 
is  a  pestilence  throughout  the  world;  they  cry  for 
vengeance — ^vengeance  on  those  who  do  such  deeds, 
vengeance  on  those  who  call  themselves  the  mur- 


THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH  171 

^  ll»—^— IMIMI.    »■     ■! Ill       I.I     I  I        ■        «-■     —    I  I  .1  I  ^^    ...    I.I  I  I     l»l.    I..-    I    ■  .1     ■     » 

derers'  friends!  They  reek  and  reek  and  are  not 
burned.  ..." 

"Sometimes  they  are  thrown  into  the  river,  Mabel, 
and  are  washed  down  stream  to  the  Persian  Gulf  or 
remain  rotting  in  the  marshes  among  the  hills,  until 
the  last  shred  of  skin  perishes  from  their  bones.  They 
were  little  more  than  skin  and  bone,  Mabel,  after  hav- 
ing been  driven  for  days  and  weeks  from  their  homes 
toward  the  desert — ^little  more  than  skeletons  by  the 
time  a  blow  on  the  head  with  a  club  put  an  end  to  their 
misery." 

"But  surely  there  were  others,  Casparian,  who  did 
not  die  thus." 

"Indeed  yes,  Mabel.  Many  thousands  were  taken  by 
the  Turks  and  Kurds  alive  onto  barges  and  drowned 
in  the  river  like  young  kittens  in  a  sack." 

"And  in  this  way  a  nation  of  Christians  has  gone 
down  to  destruction,  Casparian;  slaughtered  by  Mos- 
lems in  the  *Holy  War' !  You  are  all  alone,  Caspar- 
ian!" 

"Alone,  Mabel.  .  .  .  And  yet  one  of  a  thousand  liv- 
ing skeletons  tearing  at  the  grass  with  claw-like  hands, 
gasping  for  water,  flogged  with  whips,  beaten  with 
sticks,  hounded  from  place  to  place,  whenever  there 
seemed  any  possibility  of  relief  .  ,  .  alone  in  this  piti- 
ful crowd !" 

"And  for  what  do  you  hope  now,  Casparian  ?  Your 
lips  are  moving !     For  what  do  you  pray  ?" 

"I  hope  for  nothing  now,  Mabel,  and  I  pray  for 
death  for  myself  and  for  these  my  kinsfolk." 

With  a  cry  of  unutterable  pain  the  madman  dropped 
full  length  upon  the  floor  and  scratched  feverishly  at 
the  flock  which  he  had  already  plucked  from  the  mat- 
tresses, thrusting  it  into  his  mouth  as  though  it  were 
the  wiry  grass  fringing  the  rocks  at  the  mouth  of  the 
Arabian  desert. 


172  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

■     ■■        ~'  *     '■  ■■■■    —  ■!■    »  ■■      I         —      ■!    ■       I I.     ■     I  ■  .■III  !■      .,  ■  — ^— ^W^^M^— ^— ^ 

"The  sun  bums  like  fire,  Casparian,  in  Dar  el  Zor. 
Where  have  you  left  your  wife  ?" 

"She  died  by  the  roadside,  by  the  roadside  between 
Aleppo  and  Dar  el  Zor — died  before  my  very  eyes." 

"How  did  she  die.?" 

"She  died  travailing!  The  Bedouins  would  not 
leave  her  in  Aleppo  but  drove  her  onward  with  their 
whips!  Mother  of  sorrows!  There  at  the  edge  of 
the  rock,  travailing  in  the  blazing  sun,  they  killed  her. 
.  .  .  Before  my  very  eyes,  Mabel.  .  .  .  And  I  left 
them,  her  and  the  dead  child,  pitched  by  the  side  of 
the  road  as  though  they  were  rubbish.  .  .  .  And  I  was 
driven  further  ..." 

"And  your  daughter  Lydia,  Casparian.  Was  she 
beautiful?" 

"Too  much  so,  Mabel.  ..." 

"How  old  was  she?" 

'Fifteen  .  .  .  with  blue  eyes  and  long  fair  hair.  .  .  ." 

'Fifteen  years  old.  .  .  .  Fair  haired.  .  .  .  What  a 
prize  for  a  Turk  ...  1" 

"Silence!" 

"I  will  be  silent  if  you  wish,  Casparian,  but  I  can 
guess  what  happened.     She  was  sold." 

A  broken  cry  of  misery  came  from  the  madman's 
lips. 

"Stripped  naked  before  my  eyes,  Mabel,  naked  as  a 
piece  of  beef  in  the  market-place  at  Aleppo.  .  .  .  Sold 
to  an  old  Turk  for  five  piastres,  my  daughter  Lydia 
.  .  .  !  Her  breasts  and  thighs  prodded  by  every 
haggler  that  passed,  until  finally — again  before  my 
eyes — she  was  packed  off  into  the  old  Harem  at  Aleppo, 
crying  upon  me  to  kill  her !  And  I  could  not  kill  her 
because  I  lay  bound  hand  and  foot  on  a  cart  with  my 
feet  mangled  by  the  bastinado,  while  all  the  time  she 
cried  and  cried  and  cried:  Kill  me,  father,  for  God's 
sake,  kill  me  ... !  But  she  was  too  beautiful  and  her 
hour  had  not  yet  come !" 


"] 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  173 


"You  are  right,  Casparian,  her  hour  had  not  yet 
come.  The  cup  of  misery  is  not  yet  full,  the  Holy 
War  is  not  yet  glutted  with  horror  and  disaster;  the 
Turks  in  Constantinople  with  their  noble  friends  shout 
for  more  .  .  .  *In  Allah's  name !'  .  .  .  What  has  be- 
come of  your  son  Reuben,  your  only  son  ?" 

"Him  they  took  at  Geben,  for  he  was  seventeen  and 
strong  and  could  bear  arms.  They  said  he  was  to  go 
and  fight,  but  all  the  same  he  was  among  the  five  thou- 
sand taken  into  the  little  valley  that  lies  beyond  Geben, 
the  five  thousand  who  were  massacred." 

"And  how  did  he  die?" 

"They  tried  to  force  him  to  become  a  Moslem,  but 
when  he  refused  they  simply  cut  him  to  pieces  with 
their  curved  knives  and  he  bled  to  death  after  terrible 
torture.  My  only  son  .  .  .  bled  to  death  in  the  Holy 
War!" 

"And  so  you  lie  here,  Casparian!  Look  around 
you!  You  must  see  everything  and  hear  everything 
until  the  time  of  your  expiation  is  fulfilled!  There 
are  thousands  lying  here  with  you,  worn  out,  parched 
with  thirst,  gnawed  with  hunger,  without  shelter  from 
the  terrible  sun  of  Arabia,  and  at  night  without  cloth- 
ing to  cover  their  bodies  from  the  bitter  wind  of  the 
desert.  .  .  .  You  and  your  people,  Casparian,  are 
naked,  hungry,  thirsty  and  without  shelter,  for  the 
Kurds  and  the  Arabs  seized  everything  they  could  find 
in  your  houses  in  Geben  and  sold  it.  And  then  all  the 
riff-raff  released  from  the  prisons  in  order  to  make 
room  for  your  kinsmen  came  and  plundered  and  burned 
your  houses  to  the  ground.  The  police  were  bandits, 
the  officials  criminals  from  the  lowest  stews  of  the 
Turkish  cities  and  yet  these  men  drove  you  into  the 
desert  and  sat  in  judgment  upon  you  until  they  handed 
you  over  to  the  robber  Bedouins  of  the  desert  and  ful- 
filled the  sentence  passed  upon  you  that  you  should  be 


:■! 


174  THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH 

driven  from  Aleppo  to  the  marsh  of  Sultanieh  and 
thence  to  Dar  el  Zor.  .  .  .  And  all  the  while  Christen- 
dom looked  on  helpless." 

"Of  all  abominations  the  worst  .  .  . !" 

"Abomination  is  abomination,  and  there  is  nothing 
worse  in  what  you  suffer  than  was  suffered  when  the 
Gigantic  sank  .  .  . !" 

"The  Gigantic!'*  cried  the  madman.  "Was  that  as 
terrible  as  this,  Mabel  ?" 

"How  can  I  tell,  Casparian  ?" 

"It  cannot  have  been  as  terrible.  .  .  .  Endless  is  the 
pain  of  the  blazing  desert  sun,  minutes  become  years 
and  hours  tens  of  years,  and  days  centuries.  .  .  .  End- 
lessly, endlessly  and  still  death  does  not  come.  ..." 

"The  Atlantic  took  me  and  my  child  in  a  minute  of 
time  to  its  bosom." 

"What  is  crying  over  there,  Mabel?" 

"The  children  of  your  race,  Casparian.  The  little 
children  who  are  here  dying  of  hunger  in  the  desert 
of  Dar  el  Zor.  .  .  .  They  are  crying  for  their  mothers, 
for  food,  for  the  milk  and  sustenance  that  in  the  happy 
days  at  home  was  always  theirs.  .  .  .  But  here  is  noth- 
ing, nothing  but  the  wiry  grass  of  the  steppe,  which 
they  force  between  their  teeth,  nothing  but  the  horse- 
dung  from  which  they  seek  to  pick  the  grains  of  com, 
nothing,  nothing,  nothing  .  .  .  and  they  cry  for  the 
goats'  milk  and  the  cows*  milk  .  .  . !  But  the  Kurds 
have  already  driven  your  flocks  from  their  stalls,  have 
already  broken  the  hives  and  dispersed  the  bees  from 
which  you  got  your  honey.  ...  So  the  little  children 
lie  unburied  in  the.sunshine  and  the  vultures  hover  over 
them;  hover  over  the  waste  from  which  rises  in  a 
horrible  chorus  the  cries  of  mothers  and  of  fathers 
who    have    seen    their    children    die    before    their 


>» 


eyes.  . 

"The  sun-heat  is  growing  less,  Mabel." 


THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH  175 


"Evening  is  falling,  Casparian.  See  how  the  sun 
dies  behind  the  rocks  in  an  orgy  of  red." 

"Red  .  .  .  red  like  the  waters  of  the  Euphrates !" 

"The  little  children  creep  into  the  shelter  of  the 
goatskin  tents  and  the  endless  day  succeeds  the  end- 
less night,  while  in  the  distance  the  jackals  whine 
hungrily.  .  .  .  And  to-morrow  a  few  more  will  be  dead 
and  the  next  day  a  few  more  and  so  on,  day  after  day, 
until  the  desert  is  satisfied.  For  your  people  are  like 
the  dogs  of  Constantinople,  the  dogs  that  Abdul  Hamid 
shipped  in  barges  to  an  island  in  the  Sea  of  Marmora 
and  abandoned  there  till,  one  after  another,  they  fought 
and  were  eaten  and  their  cries— cries  of  starvation  and 
despair — rang  through  the  darkness,  through  the  richest 
quarters  of  Stamboul.  .  .  .  To-day,  Casparian,  from 
one  end  of  the  world  to  another  there  will  ring  the  cry 
of  the  desert  of  Dar  el  Zor,  in  which  a  homeless  and 
abandoned  people  turn  finally  to  eating  each  other  un- 
til the  last  dies  of  starvation!'* 

"Prometheus !     I  am  Prometheus !" 

Stim  had  stretched  out  his  arms  and  stood  in  the 
attitude  of  one  crucified. 

"The  vultures,  Mabel,  the  vultures!"  he  cried.  "I 
am  chained  to  the  rocks  by  the  power  of  Zeus  who 
has  sent  the  vultures  .  .  . !" 

He  plucked  feverishly  with  his  fingers  at  the  front 
of  the  straight  waistcoat,  as  though  seeking  to  bare 
his  breast  to  the  onslaught  of  the  birds  of  prey.  .  .  . 

And  once  more  : 

"Prometheus  I     Prometheus !" 

And  he  stood  motionless  as  a  Greek  statue. 


CHAPTER  VI 

HE  stood  poised  in  this  attitude  for  so  long 
that  Hoffmann  gazed  at  him  wondering.  It 
seemed  incredible  that  a  human  being  should 
have  the  strength  to  stand  motionless  in  this  position 
minute  after  minute.  Of  a  sudden  the  words  began 
again  to  pour  from  his  lips  in  an  unbroken  stream. 
On  his  forehead  stood  beads  of  sweat  But  his  voice 
went  on  and  on : 

"Look  into  the  future!" 

"I  am  looking  into  the  future,  Mabel!" 

"Take  this  uniform,  put  it  on,  and  bear  yourself  like 
a  god !" 

The  madman  relaxed  his  rigid  limbs  suddenly.  Once 
more  he  made  the  familiar  motion  as  though  he  were 
dressing  himself. 

"Follow  me!" 
'Where  are  you  leading  me,  Mabel  ?" 

'To  Saint  Gilles,  Leutnant  von  Schwarzenstein. 
To  the  prison  of  Saint  Gilles  in  Brussels  where  to- 
night your  duty  lies.     There  is  to  be  an  execution!" 

"Horrible!" 

Stirn  sought  once  again  to  cover  his  eyes  with  his 
hands. 

"It  is  useless  to  hide  your  eyes,  Leutnant,  for  you 
will  see  everything.  .  .  .  You  are  in  command  of  the 
firing  party.  .  .  .  The  laws  of  war  have  spoken  and 
by  the  oath  that  you  have  sworn  to  your  sovereign  you 
must  obey!" 

"They  are  long  and  dark,  the  passages,  Mabel  I" 

"The  passages  of  the  prison  of  Saint  Gilles,  Leut- 

176 


"1 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  177 

nant,  in  which  for  ten  weeks  she  has  been  awaiting 
her  sentence." 

"She?    Who?" 

"A  woman  whom  they  have  condemned  to  death, 
Leutnant,  a  woman  that  spent  her  life  in  doing  good." 

"A  woman?    Her  life  in  doing  good,  Mabel?" 

"She  was  a  nurse,  Leutnant,  and  in  charge  of  a 
hospital  at  Brussels.  .  .  .  She  tended  wounded  soldiers 
— German  and  Belgian  and  English  and  French — ^ask- 
ing no  questions,  caring  nothing  for  their  nationality, 
knowing  only  that  they  were  sick  and  in  need  of  care." 

"Then  why?" 
.  "The  laws  of  war  have  spoken.  .  .  .  The  military 
code  consists  of  dead  letters  and  unfeeling  paper  and 
paper  and  ink  have  no  heart!" 

"Who  condemned  her?" 

"Your  court-martial,  Leutnant,  and  technically  with 
justice  .  .  .  justice,  according  to  paper  and  ink  ...  I" 

"Why?" 

"She  gave  money  and  help  out  of  pity  to  those  who 
wished  to  flee  across  the  frontier.  And  according  to 
the  military  code,  anyone  who  helps  the  enemy  to 
escape  incurs  the  death  penalty.  That  is  what  the  mili- 
tary code  says,  the  code  that  is  written  on  paper,  the 
code  that  is  printed  in  all  the  fairness  of  black  and 
white." 

"When  was  sentence  passed  ?" 

"Nine  hours  ago." 

"And  when  will  it  be  carried  out  ?" 

"To-night  at  two  o'clock  in  the  prison  of  Saint 
Gilles  .  .  .  quickly  and  secretly  .  .  .  and  you  are  com- 
manding the  shooting  party  ..." 

"A  woman,  who  did  good  .  .  . !" 

"The  laws  of  war  make  no  distinction  between  man 
and  woman,  Leutnant ;  the  laws  of  war  recognize  no 
mitigating  circumstance;  they  are  paper  and  ink,  ink 


178  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

■      »'■■    ■      I       ■■ I      I    —11—...  -— i.i»i  —.-■  -■.■■■■—      II       I,  .  II.         I ■    I    ■» 

and  paper,  and  like  you,  they  do  not  think.  For  you 
are  a  leutnant  and  your  duty  is  not  to  think  but  to 
obey." 

The  madman  drew  himself  rigidly  to  attention. 
After  a  moment's  pause  he  began  to  speak  again : 

"Where  am  I?" 

"This  is  the  door  of  her  cell." 

"See!  She  kneels  over  there  before  her  crucifix  I 
Who  is  that  with  her,  Mabel?" 

"An  English  clergyman." 

"Her  back  is  turned  to  us,  Mabel,  and  I  can  see 
nothing  of  her  but  her  back  and  her  beautiful  white 
neck." 

"She  is  not  to  be  beheaded,  Leutnant ;  she  is  only  to 
be  shot.  .  .  .  Shot  by  the  platoon  which  you  com- 
mand." 

"She  is  speaking  to  the  clergyman,  Mabel.  .  .  .  She 
turns  her  head.  .  .  .  Her  face  seems  lit  up  and 
noble.  ..." 

"Can  you  understand  what  she  says  ?" 

"Every  word." 

'And  what  the  priest  says  ?" 

'Again  every  word." 

"Then  repeat  it  to  me.  ..." 

Stirn  seemed  to  be  listening  intently.  He  stood 
with  his  head  slightly  forward,  as  though  drinking  in 
this  imaginary  conversation. 

"The  clergyman  is  asking  her  whether  she  is  able 
to  appear  before  the  throne  of  God  with  a  pure  heart. 
.  .  .  She  replies :  *With  a  pure  heart,  quietly  and  rev- 
erently, for  I  believe  in  God  and  the  life  everlasting.'  " 

"And  what  does  the  clergyman  ask  her  now?" 

"Whether  she  believes;  and  she  replies  proudly:  I 
believe  in  God  the  Father,  maker  of  heaven  and  earth ; 
and  in  Jesus  Christ  his  only  Son  our  Lord,  who  was 
conceived  by  the  Holy  Ghost,  Born  of  the  Virgin  Mary, 


it 


THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH  179 

Suffered  under  Pontius  Pilate,  Was  crucified,  dead, 
and  buried.  He  descended  into  hell ;  the  third  day  He 
rose  again  from  the  dead.  He  ascended  into  heaven, 
and  sitteth  on  the  right  hand  of  God  the  Father  Al- 
mighty ;  from  whence  he  shall  come  to  judge  the  quick 
and  the  dead." 

As  he  spoke  the  last  words  a  shudder  went  through 
the  madman's  body  as  though  he  had  been  lashed  with 
a  whip. 

"She  is  speaking  again,  Mabel." 

"What  is  she  saying,  Leutnant?" 

"I  believe  in  the  Holy  Ghost;  the  Holy  Catholic 
Church ;  The  Communion  of  Saints ;  The  forgiveness 
of  sins;  The  resurrection  of  the  body.  And  the  life 
everlasting,  Amen.  .  .  .  Life  everlasting.  .  .  .  Life 
everlasting.  .  .  .  Life  everlasting.  ..." 

The  words  sounded  like  a  thrice-repeated  judgment 
from  the  lips  of  the  sick  man. 

"She  is  speaking  again  to  the  clergyman ;  *I  have  no 
fear  nor  shrinking;  I  have  seen  death  so  often  that  it 
is  not  strange  or  fearful  to  me.  I  thank  God  for  this 
ten  weeks'  quiet  before  the  end.  This  time  of  rest  has 
been  a  great  mercy,  for  life  has  always  been  hurried 
and  full  of  difficulty.  But  this  I  would  say,  standing 
as  I  do  in  view  of  God  and  eternity,  I  realize  that 
patriotism  is  not  enough.  God  requires  something 
further.  ...  I  must  have  no  hatred  or  bitterness  to- 
ward anyone,  for  He  said  and  commanded :  Love  your 
enemies!' " 

"So  those  are  her  words,  Leutnant  ?" 

"Patriotism  is  not  enough.  I  must  have  no  hatred 
or  bitterness  toward  anyone.  .  .  .'* 

After  a  moment's  pause,  Stim  spoke  again : 

"On  her  knees  with  the  priest  she  prays :  *Our  Father 
which  art  in  heaven,  hallowed  be  Thy  name,  Thy  King- 
dom come,  Thy  will  be  done  on  earth  as  it  is  in  heaven. 


i8o  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

Give  us  this  day  our  daily  bread.  Forgive  us  our 
trespasses,  as  we  forgive  them  that  trespass  against 
us.  Lead  us  not  into  temptation,  but  deliver  us  from 
evil.  For  Thine  is  the  kingdom,  the  power  and  the 
glory,  for  ever  and  ever,  Amen.'  .  .  .  And  now  the 
clergyman  hands  her  the  consecrated  wafer:  This  is 
my  body.  .  .  .  And  now  the  cup:  This  is  my  blood. 
.  .  .  Now  he  pronounces  the  Benediction :  *The  Lord 
bless  you  and  keep  you ;  the  Lord  lift  up  the  light  of 
his  countenance  upon  you,  and  give  you  peace,  now 
and  for  evermore.  .  .  ." 

"Is  she  not  still  on  her  knees,  Leutnant?  Is  she  not 
now  singing?" 

"Yes,  Mabel,  she  is  singing: 

'I  fear  no  foe  with  thee  at  hand  to  bless; 
Ills  have  no  weight  and  tears  no  bitterness; 
Where  is  death's  sting?    Where,  grave,  thy  victory? 
I  triumph  still  if  thou  abide  with  me.'" 

"And  now?" 

"She  is  giving  to  the  clergyman  parting  messages 
for  relations  and  friends  in  London  and  Brussels. 
...  He  is  saying  good-bye  and  she  replies  smil- 
ing :  *  We  shall  meet  again  1*  .  .  .  The  clergyman  goes 
away.  .  .  ." 

"It  is  your  turn  now,  Leutnant.  .  ,  .  Squad,  halt !" 

Uncannily  the  sick  man  pulled  himself  together  and 
stood  upright,  as  though  at  attention.  Then  he  spoke 
again : 

"Sergeant  Hamisch  and  three  men  .  .  . !  Is  it  far 
to  go,  Mabel?" 

"A  few  steps  through  the  courtyard  to  the  grave; 
the  torches  will  light  you ;  here  is  the  German  military 
chaplain  who  will  accompany  you." 

"He  is  speaking  to  her,  Mabel.  ...  He  is  asking 
whether  she  has  any  last  wish  to  express.  .  .  .  And 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  i8i 

she  replies  that  she  has  said  everything  to  the  minister 
of  her  own  church.  .  .  .  He  takes  her  by  the  arm.  .  .  . 
March!" 

"Remember  the  laws  of  war,  Leutnant.  .  .  ." 

Once  more  the  madman  sprang  to  attention. 

"Ten  steps  through  the  courtyard,  Leutnant,  by  the 
light  of  the  torches.  .  .  .  '* 

Stirn  staggered  toward  the  door,  but  even  in  his 
unsteady  walk  there  was  something  purposeful,  almost 
rigid,  some  old  strange  memory  of  the  days  when 
drilled  to  automatic  discipline,  he  moved  as  became  an 
officer. 

"Blindfold  the  condemned,  sergeant!" 

The  speaker's  hands  made  foolish  motions  in  the 
air,  as  though  he  were  tying  a  bandage  over  the  vic- 
tim's eyes. 

"In  the  Emperor's  name!  In  the  Emperor's — 
What  is  that  shining  round  her  head,  Mabel  ?" 

"Merely  the  flicker  of  the  torches,  Leutnant." 

"No  .  .  .  shining  like  a  crown  of  light .  .  .  not  the 
reflection  of  the  torches,  Mabel.  .  .  .  The  crown  of 
life  everlasting.  .  .  .'* 

"Remember  the  laws  of  war,  Leutnant!" 

"Squad, 'shun!" 

"Read  the  sentence." 

"I  am  reading  it,  Mabel." 

Stirn  motioned  as  though  he  were  unfolding  a  paper. 
A  flow  of  meaningless  words  came  to  his  lips.  Gradu- 
ally the  imeasy  babble  checked  and  died. 

"The  condemned  has  fainted,  Herr  Leutnant.  Shall 
we  revive  her  ?" 

"No!" 

"Shall  we  raise  her  up?" 

"No." 

"Shall  we  bind  her?" 

"No." 


1 82  THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH 

"Then  what  .  .  .  ?" 

"Fire !" 

"We  cannot  aim.  .  .  ." 

"Fire!" 

"Herr  Leutnant,  it  is  impossible  ...!*' 

"Fire,  I  say!"  Damn  you,  don't  you  hear  the  or- 
der .  .  .?" 

"Impossible.  .  .  .  They  will  not  shoot,  Herr  Leut- 
nant." 

"Mabel,  they  refuse  to  shoot !     They  are  crying !" 

"Yes,  they  are  crying,  Leutnant.  Courage!  Re- 
member the  laws  of  war !     Do  your  duty !" 

"My  duty,  Mabel?" 

"Take  your  loaded  revolver,  Leutnant " 

"I  cannot  .  .  . !" 

"You  must,  Leutnant!  Take  your  revolver,  walk 
up  to  the  condemned  and  make  an  end.  .  .  .  She  is 
only  a  woman  and  she  has  fainted.  .  .  .  You  are  a 
man.  .  .  .  Act  like  one.  .  .  .  Set  the  pistol  at  her 
temple,  fire  and  make  an  end!" 

"Spare  me,  Mabel !     I  cannot  .  .  . !" 

"You  must,  Leutnant!     I  order  it!" 

The  madman's  lips  were  flecked  with  foam.  He 
staggered  like  a  dnmken  man,  gesticulating  with  his 
arm  in  the  air.  It  was  as  though  he  raised  a  pistol 
in  his  hand,  raised  it  and  let  it  fall,  his  hand  moving 
indecisively,  uncontrollably.  .  .  .  It  was  as  though,  be- 
fore his  fixed  and  staring  eyes,  the  crouched,  uncon- 
scious figure  swam  in  mist. 

"Go  closer,  Leutnant.  Hold  it  against  her 
temple  .  .  . !" 

Stim  stepped  forward  unsteadily. 

"Now  bend  down!" 

He  leaned  forward  as  though  over  a  body  lying  on 
the  floor.    "And  now  fire  .  .  . !" 

He  turned  his  head  away  so  that  his  horror-stricken 


THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH  183 

!■  — ^■^^■— — IMI      H  II  II  111  ■ 

face  glared  hideously  over  his  shoulder  at  the  padded 
wall.  Then,  unmistakably,  the  finger  of  his  right  hand 
crooked  and  moved.  .  .  .  And  the  madman,  like  a 
puppet  of  which  the  string  has  suddenly  been  cut,  col- 
lapsed in  a  heap  upon  the  floor. 


r  ■  "^  >Si7»K?5p^-'RJ>?^i«?53H 


CHAPTER   VII 

HOFFMANN  looked  at  the  time.  He  was  be- 
ginning to  get  uneasy.  For  five  minutes  the 
patient  had  not  moved.  However,  it  was  a 
quarter  past  twelve  and  the  director  would  soon  be 
back.  The  warder  sat  listening  anxiously  and  at  last 
Gollmer's  voice  became  audible  in  the  corridor.  He 
was  accompanied  by  somebody  whose  tones  were  famil- 
iar to  Hoffmann.  As  the  door  opened  and  the  two 
men  crossed  the  threshold,  he  recognized  the  director's 
companion  to  be  von  Winterstein,  professor  of 
psychiatry  at  the  neighboring  university.  Von  Win- 
terstein would  come  frequently  to  the  asylum  to  col- 
lect material  for  his  lectures. 

"Good  evening,  Hoffmann!  You  know  Professor 
von  Winterstein  ?'* 

"Good  evening,  sir!" 

"How  is  the  patient  ?" 

The  visitors  stood  and  looked  at  the  sick  man  who 
lay,  with  his  face  to  the  wall,  crouched  in  the  corner 
of  the  cell. 

"Apathy  .  .  .  momentary  apathy,"  murmured  Goll- 
mer.  "He  has  not  been  like  that  the  whole  time  since 
I  left?" 

"Indeed  not,  sir.  He  has  been  talking  and  crying 
and  screaming,  but  now  it  appears  that  he  is  worn 
out." 

"What  has  he  been  talking  about,  Hoffmann  ?" 

"I  couldn't  make  head  or  tail  of  it,  sir,  but  it  ap- 
peared ..." 

"It  appeared  .  .  .  ?" 

184 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  185 


"Well,  sir  ...  as  though  he  were  carrying  on  a 
conversation  with  someone  else." 

"Ah,  yes !  That  frequently  happens.  .  .  .  All  right, 
Hoffmann,  you  can  go.    Tell  Rieth  to  come  on  duty." 

"Good  night,  gentlemen." 

"Good  night,  Hoffmann." 

Gollmer  motioned  his  companion  to  the  chair  on 
which  the  warder  had  been  sitting.  He  himself  paced 
slowly  up  and  down  the  cell,  lost  in  thought. 

"It's  a  pity,"  he  said  at  last.  "I  should  like  you  to 
have  heard  him,  for  the  case  seems  to  be  a  highly 
typical  one  and  yet  at  the  same  time  to  have  very  ex- 
ceptional features.  Indeed,  in  some  respects,  I  never 
remember  having  a  patient  that  puzzled  me  more." 

"Who  is  he  ?"  asked  von  Winterstein. 

"Captain  Stirn,  who  commandgjjl  the  submarine  that 
sunk  the  Gigantic.  He  was  brought  here  in  the  last 
stage  of  raving  lunacy.  As  you  know,  the  war  has 
filled  all  the  asylums.  .  .  .  Madness  caused  by  horror 
is  the  most  usual.  .  .  .  The  patients  count  up  to  many 
thousands.  .  .  .  But  this  is  quite  a  different  business. 
You  see,  in  comparison  with  those  who  have  gone 
through  all  the  horrors  of  battle-field  and  trench,  this 
man  underwent  nothing  very  unusual.  ..." 

"Nothing  unusual!     Surely  ..." 

"Of  course  he  sank  a  liner,  but  what  I  meant  was 
that  he  can  have  seen  very  little  of  it  himself  .  .  . 
merely  a  picture  through  the  periscope.  ..." 

"Is  there  any  evidence  of  hereditary  tendency  to 
lunacy?" 

"I  have  made  every  possible  enquiry,  but  the  father 
and  mother  are  both  healthy  (they  are  still  alive)  and 
all  the  sisters  are  healthy.  No  sig^  of  alcoholism  or 
tuberculosis  or  syphilis.  Otherwise,  of  course,  one 
would  look  for  some  latent  mania  or  paranoia  brought 
to  the  surface  by  a  sudden  shock  ...  or  progressive 


1 86  THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH 

paralysis  is  not  unusual  about  that  age.  He  is  thirty- 
eight.  As  I  said,  I  can  find  no  evidence  of  venereal 
infection,  but,  of  course,  one  never  knows.  .  .  ." 

"No  one  ever  knows.  What  are  the  particulars  re- 
garding the  actual  outbreak  of  mania  ?" 

"Very  few.  He  threatened  his  crew  with  a  revol- 
ver in  the  cabin  of  the  submarine,  after  they  had  taken 
on  board  a  woman's  body  and  he  had  been  going 
through  the  valuables  found  on  the  corpse." 

"Is  it  not  possible  that  this  woman  had  some  con- 
nection .  .  .  ?" 

"That  would  surely  be  an  astonishing  coinci- 
dence, that  out  of  the  thousand  women  drowned  on 
the  Gigantic  the  one  with  whom  Stirn  had  some 
connection  should  thus  be  taken  on  board  the  sub- 
marine !" 

"The  thousand  other  women !  .  .  ."  The  Professor 
continued :  "You  spoke  of  valuables,  Gollmer ;  what 
sort  of  things  were  they?" 

"I  understand  there  were  a  few  rings,  a  watch,  a 
diary  of  some  kind  .  .  ." 

"A  diary?  That  ought  to  throw  some  light  on  the 
matter." 

"I  looked  at  the  book  and  it  is  merely  an  account 
by  a  mother  of  her  child's  life — ^nothing  more  than 
that." 

"Nothing  more  than  that.  .  .  .  Did  not  the  warder 
say  that  the  sick  man  carried  on  a  conversation  with 
someone  ?" 

"I  beheve  he  did.     What  of  it?" 

"Is  it  not  just  possible  that  Stirn  imagined  himself 
to  be  in  conversation  with  this  dead  woman?" 

"That  never  occurred  to  me." 

"I  am  only  putting  the  theory  forward  very  ten- 
tatively. ..." 

"In  that  case,  your  theory  that  the  drowned  woman 


THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH  187 

had  previously  played  a  part  in  the  patient's  life  would 
be  supported." 

"Yes.  .  .  .  Do  you  happen  to  remember  the  name  of 
the  writer  of  the  diary  ?" 

"She  was  an  American  woman  called  Mabel 
Roade  .  .  ." 

As  the  words  left  the  director's  lips,  Stirn  moved 
suddenly  and,  turning  his  haggard  face  to  the  two  doc- 
tors, said: 

"Was  that  you  calling  again,  Mabel?" 

"There  you  see  ..."  murmured  von  Winterstein 
to  GoUmer. 

The  director  nodded  and  tried  to  draw  the  patient 
out.     "How  are  you  feeling,  Captain?"  he  asked. 

The  madman  held  his  head  tilted  backward,  as 
though  he  were  speaking  with  the  stars  of  heaven. 

"You  are  telling  me  I  am  a  king,  Mabel." 

"A  typical  case  of  megalomania,"  whispered  the 
professor. 

But  Gollmer  was  not  listening.  He  was  watching 
the  strange  contortions  of  the  patient  who,  turning  to- 
ward the  visitors  with  a  strange  dry  smile,  said : 

"I  have  your  majesty's  permission?" 

Gollmer  nudged  his  companion. 

"You  are  quite  right,  my  dear  colleague,"  he  said. 

Then,  turning  to  Stirn,  he  asked : 

"You  are  a  king?" 

The  madman  replied : 

"I  am  reincarnate.  Some  spirit  has  transformed 
me. 

"Mabel  Roade  .  .  .  ?"  asked  the  professor. 

"Yes,  Mabel  Roade,"  replied  the  madman. 

Hereafter  he  paid  no  attention  to  the  two  doctors. 
Sitting  upright  on  the  mattress,  he  gesticulated  vio- 
lently with  both  arms,  reproducing  the  movements  of 
^  jugg"ler  at  a  circus  who  is  throwing  a  number  of 


1 88  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

II  I  ■■■■■-     I-  -      I  I-      ■■■  I  I  ,      ■  I  I     .  -  I  l-l.         .1         ■■ 11  1,1  !■■■■     ■■       ■■      I    ■ 

brightly  colored  balls  toward  the  ceiling.  Minute 
after  minute,  without  the  least  sign  of  exhaustion,  the 
rhythmic  motion  continued. 

"What  is  your  majesty  doing?"  asked  the  director. 

"I  am  obeying  the  spirit  which  moves  me,"  was  the 
answer. 

"Mabel's  spirit?" 

"Mabel's  spirit." 

"And  what  are  her  orders  ?" 

"That  I  should  play  catth-ball.  And  therefore  I 
play  catch-ball  with  my  crown  and  with  the  lives  of 
men,  for  that  is  why  I  have  been  sent." 

"Sent,  your  majesty  ?" 

"Yes,  that  is  why  God's  grace  has  descended  upon 
me.  The  many  colored  balls  with  which  I  play,  red 
and  blue  and  yellow  and  green,  rise  and  fall  evenly 
and  beautifully.     Do  you  not  see  them  ?" 

"Indeed,"  replied  the  director,  "they  rise  and  fall 
beautifully,  your  majesty."  Now  both  he  and  the  pro- 
fessor raised  their  eyes  toward  the  ceiling. 

"I  shall  win,  with  my  balls,"  went  on  Stim.  "For 
I  am  filled  with  the  certainty  of  victory  and  where 
there  is  will  there  is  victory.  My  wish  is  law  .  .  , 
and  I  play  catch-ball.  My  spirit  tells  me  that  my 
wish  is  law." 

"Mabel's  spirit,  your  majesty?" 

"No,  no!  My  own  spirit.  See  how  the  balls  rise 
and  fall,  up  and  down,  up  and  down,  and  never  one 
of  them  falls  to  the  ground.  They  all  return  to  my 
hands,  forced  by  the  law  of  gravitation." 

"The  law  of  gravitation,  your  majesty?" 

"Certainly.  Am  I  not  the  middle  point  of  the 
world?  The  balls  must  fly  higher,  higher,  much 
higher.  .  .  .  But  they  always  return  to  my  hands  be- 
cause I  will  it  so." 

The  monotonous  movements  went  on   tirelessly; 


iK-nr 


THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH  189 


sweat  stood  on  the  madman's  forehead  but  he  did  not 
seem  to  notice  it 

"My  might  knows  no  bounds.  My  might  cannot  be 
limited.  I  am  I.  Each  of  these  balls  is  a  nation, 
each  of  these  balls  is  a  country,  each  of  these  balls  is 
an  army  .  .  .  and  I  play  with  them.  I  play  with  them 
because  it  pleases  me  and  because  the  spirit  moves  me 
to  do  so.  There  was  a  time,  a  few  years  ago,  when  I 
did  not  play  with  these  balls,  but  kept  them  in  a  drawer, 
near  my  throne.  And  I  would  go  and  look  at  them 
from  time  to  time  but  I  never  took  them  out  and  played 
with  them  because  I  knew  .  .  .  because  I  did  not  trust 
myself,  because  I  was  afraid.  ..." 

"What  was  your  majesty  afraid  of?" 

"I  was  afraid  that  one  of  my  beautiful  balls  would 
fall  into  the  mud  and  be  lost  or  broken ;  and  so  I  w^ould 
shut  the  drawer  up  again  out  of  fear,  in  order  that  my 
balls  might  be  safe.*' 

"And  now  ?" 

"My  spirit  l^ves  me  no  rest,  my  royal  spirit  will 
not  leave  me  in  peace.  And  I  began  to  play,  first  with 
one  ball,  then  with  two,  then  with  three,  then  with 
ten,  then  with  fifteen,  finally  with  all  the  balls  I  had 
in  my  drawer  .  .  .  and  they  are  going  splendidly !  See 
how  they  fly  through  the  air!  See  how  they  return 
always  to  my  hands  1  It  requires  courage  to  play  at 
catch-ball,  courage  and  self-confidence,  and  I  have  self- 
confidence.** 

The  director  turned  away  and  took  no  further  no- 
tice of  the  madman  whose  gestures  became  more  and 
more  agitated  and  who,  standing  upright  now,  began 
running  and  jumping  from  one  side  of  the  cell  to  the 
other,  furiously  determined  that  neither  the  red,  nor 
the  yellow,  nor  the  blue,  nor  the  green  ball  should 
fall  into  the  mud  and  be  spoiled. 

"What  do  you  make  of  the  case?"  the  director  asked 
von  Winterstein. 


if 
"1 


190  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

"I  do  not  see  anything  very  abnormal,"  replied  the 
other.  "Classical  megalomania.  ...  It  is  quite  com- 
mon for  a  patient  to  think  himself  a  king  playing  with 
countries  and  peoples  and  armies  as  though  they  were 
balls." 

Then  what's  your  conclusion?" 
'I  think  it  is  a  typical  case  of  progressive  paralysis. 
It  seems  to  be  very  important  that  we  should  find  out 
if  possible  whether  there  is  any  trace  of  hereditary 
influence  or  of  venereal  infection.  Would  it  not  be 
possible  to  go  through  every  detail  of  the  patient's  past 
history,  finding  out  where  he  spent  his  leaves,  what 
cures  he  has  undergone?  It  should  not  be  difficult, 
seeing  that  he  is  an  officer.  .  .  .  And  it  is  worth  while, 
for  the  case  is  a  very  interesting  one." 

Gollmer  nodded. 

"Yes,  I  think  there  is  little  doubt  that  you  are  right. 
Megalomania  in  such  an  extreme  form  must  have 
some  antecedent  cause.  I  will  make  a  point  of  going 
into  the  patient's  previous  history  most  carefully.  The 
cause  of  science  may  benefit  very  materially  from  our 
researches." 

Gradually  the  sick  man's  arms  began  to  tire.  They 
moved  more  and  more  slowly  and  finally  stopped  al- 
together. He  sank  down  again  on  to  the  floor  and 
crouched  in  the  corner,  his  face  turned  to  the  wall. 

The  door  opened  and  Rieth,  the  new  warder,  came 
in. 

"If  anything  unusual  occurs,  Rieth,  telephone  me 
at  once  at  my  house.  The  receiver  stands  just  by  my 
bed.     And  now  good  night." 

'Good  night,  sir." 

'Good  night,"  said  the  professor. 

'Good  night,  sir." 

The  doctors  left  the  cell  and  Rieth  remained  alone 
with  the  patient. 


"( 
"( 


!'4. 


I 


CHAPTER  yil 

AM  flying!    See,  I  am  flying!" 

"That  is  natural  enough,  for  you  are  a  leut- 
nant  in  the  Flying  Corps,  stationed  behind 
the  trenches  at  Bapaume.  You  are  to-day  making 
your  134th  flight,  Leutnant  Reinhard." 

Rieth  felt  uncomfortable.  He  had  brought  a  book 
with  him  to  wile  away  the  time  of  his  watch  and  now 
struggled  to  concentrate  his  attention  on  what  he  was 
reading.  He  had  not  Hoffmann's  long  experience  of 
this  work  and  the  behavior  of  the  patient  filled  him 
at  once  with  vague  alarm  and  curiosity. 

"You  are  only  twenty-five  years  old,  the  only  son 
of  your  parents.  It  seemed  as  though  you  would  com- 
plete your  studies  and  live  a  life  of  happiness  and 
comfort,  loving  and  beloved.  But  fate  left  you  no 
rest  and  here  you  are  behind  the  trenches  at  Bapaume, 
12,000  feet  above  the  ground,  poised  over  the  battle- 
field where  your  fellow  men  suffer  and  fight  and  bleed, 
alone  with  your  pilot.  ...  Is  it  not  wonderful  to  be 
isolated  .  .  .  ?" 

"What  am  I  to  think  of,  Mabel  ?" 

"Think  of  the  past,  Leutnant  Reinhard,  and  of  the 
future.  Think  of  what  you  have  left  behind  in  your 
beautiful  home.  Think  of  your  mother — ^when  did 
you  last  write  to  her?** 

"Yesterday,  Mabel,  for  I  write  to  her  nearly  every 
day." 

"And  had  you  any  premonition  when  you  wrote?" 

"What  sort  of  a  premonition,  Mabel?" 

"A  sense  of  gloom,  a  sense  of  impending  sor- 
row. .  .  .** 


X91 


192  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

"No." 

"What  did  you  write  about?" 

"I  wrote,  as  always,  about  my  life  here,  so  far  as 
I  am  allowed  to  do  so,  and,  as  always,  I  wrote  cheer- 
fully." 

"You  are  very  young,  Leutnant  Reinhard,  and  there- 
fore it  is  natural  for  you  to  be  care-free  and  cheerful 
among  all  the  suffering  and  wounds  and  blood  and 
tears  which  wander  up  and  down  the  trenches  at  Ba- 
paume.  It  is  your  right  to  be  cheerful,  the  right  of 
youth.     What  are  you  thinking  of  ?" 

"Of  my  work,  Mabel ;  of  my  task  of  locating  hostile 
artillery,  of  my  duty  to  report  what  I  have  observed. 
.  .  .  Sometimes,  sometimes  I  think  of  my  mother ..." 

A  smile  of  happiness  transformed  the  ghastly  face 
of  the  madman  into  something  almost  beautiful.  .  .  . 
Rieth,  noticing  the  smile,  felt  a  sudden  spasm  of  pity 
shake  his  heart  Fascinated,  he  forgot  his  book  and 
listened. 

"...  of  my  mother,  Mabel,  for  she  is  still  young 
and  beautiful  and  clever,  and  slim  as  a  gazelle.  .  .  . 
She  has  no  gray  hairs  and  in  the  good  times  before 
the  war  she  would  be  taken  often  for  my  sister,  so 
young  is  she,  with  her  clear  blue  eyes  .  .  . !  \Vhen 
the  war  is  over,  when  I  get  my  long  leave,  I  shall  rush 
to  her  and  tell  her  all  that  happened  and  she  will  be 
proud  of  me!" 

"And  you  are  her  only  son  ?" 

"She  would  often  grumble  that  her  other  children 
were  girls." 

'When  were  you  last  home  on  leave?" 

'Barely  a  fortnight  ago,  Mabel,  at  Easter  time,  as  the 
trees  were  beginning  to  bud  and  the  first  larks  were 
rising  from  the  fields.  We  were  together  first  at"  home 
in  the  great  town  and  then  in  the  wood  near  by  where 
my  father  built  a  country  house  and  gave  it  to  my 


"1 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  193 


mother.  We  all  used  to  live  there,  my  mother  and 
my  father  and  my  sisters  and  I." 

"Where  is  your  father  now,  Leutnant  ?" 

"On  active  service,  Mabel.  He  is  a  major.  .  .  .  Not 
a  regular  major,  but  when  the  Fatherland  called  he  an- 
swered, and  so  my  mother  remains  alone  in  the  coun- 
try house  near  the  great  city,  with  my  sisters." 

"Tell  me  about  your  sisters." 

"Three  are  grown  up.  The  fourth  is  still  a  little 
girl,  and  I  have  always  been  more  of  an  uncle  to  her 
than  a  brother.  I  remember  before  she  was  bom  how 
anxious  I  was  for  my  mother,  for  I  was  old  enough 
by  then  not  to  believe  any  longer  the  story  about  the 
stork." 

"How  proud  they  must  be  of  you !" 

"I  hope  so,  Mabel.  What  rejoicing  there  was  when 
I  got  the  Iron  Cross!" 

"So  you  have  the  Iron  Cross?" 

"I  got  it  for  my  looth  flight,  and  telegraphed  imme- 
diately to  my  mother,  who  replied  by  a  telegram  full  of 
joy." 

"Tell  me  about  your  last  leave,  Leutnant  Reinhard." 

"At  Easter?  My  father  was  not  at  home,  so  that 
I  had  my  mother  all  to  myself.  We  would  go  out  in 
the  evening  and  walk  in  the  forest,  hand  in  hand  like 
a  pair  of  lovers,  while  all  around  the  buds  were  be- 
ginning to  break." 

"And  what  did  you  talk  about?" 

"I  told  her  all  about  my  flights  and  our  officers* 
mess  in  the  chateau,  and  my  friends,  and  the  regu- 
lations .  .  .  but  all  the  time,  at  the  bottom  of  our 
hearts,  we  were  both  of  us  thinking  of  the  parting  that 
was  bound  to  come.  We  never  mentioned  this  part- 
ing. We  kept  our  heads  high  and  chattered  of  other 
things,  because  my  father*  will  not  tolerate  any  weak- 
ness. .  .  .He  says  that  times  like  these  are  only  for 


■    ■'  '  v;?yS 


194  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

the  strong.  And  so  we  carried  ourselves  as  bravely  as 
possible,  although  neither  I  nor  my  mother  is  really 
like  that,  Mabel ;  although  we  are  both  tender-hearted 
and  emotional  arid  could  easily  have  wept  at  the 
thought  of  parting  and  at  the  terrible  things  which 
are  happening  in  these  days.  But  my  father  had  for- 
bidden us  to  be  weak  and  so  we  were  strong." 

*'Did  you  not  weep  at  all  ?" 

"Outwardly,  not  at  all,  Mabel;  but  inwardly  our 
hearts  wept  tears  much  bitterer,  much  more  despair- 
ing, than  those  which  the  world  can  see.  I  shall  never 
forget  the  last  moment  at  the  station  ( for  she  came  to 
see  me  off)  when  we  pressed  hands,  dry-eyed,  think- 
ing all  the  time  of  the  walks  we  had  taken  in  the  forest 
and  of  the  blessed  week  that  was  gone.  But  we  merely 
shook  hands  through  the  window  of  the  compartment 
and  I  came  back  to  the  chateau  behind  the  trenches  of 
Bapaume." 

"Did  you  see  none  of  your  old  friends  and  com- 
rades, when  you  went  home  on  leave  ?'* 

"I  saw  something  much  more  fundamental,  Mabel ; 
I,  who  had  hitherto  only  seen  the  future,  saw  the  past. 
This  war  makes  us  very  much  older  than  our  years, 
for  it  kills  joy  and  hope,  on  which  youth  subsists.  .  .  . 
There,  at  home,  in  the  quiet  and  comfort,  I  began  to 
find  my  youth  again,  that  sense  of  youth  which  never 
entirely  vanishes.  My  room,  my  books,  the  butterfly 
collection  which  my  uncle  gave  me — all  these  and  other 
relics  from  childhood,  brought  to  me  terribly  clearly 
a  sense  of  what  I  had  lost.  I  realized  the  joy  of  small 
things,  of  the  thousand  little  details  which  belong  to 
intimate  memory.  The  old  cupboard  full  of  books  in 
my  sister's  room;  the  silver  paper  medals  which  the 
girls  made  for  me  once  when  we  were  playing  sol- 
diers; the  framed  catechism  presented  to -me  by  my 
grandfather  when  I  was  confirmed ;  all  these  and  many 


THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH  195 

other  fragments  from  the  past.  How  the  past  bleeds, 
Mabel,  from  the  hundred  wounds  inflicted  on  my 
mother  and  on  myself  by  the  battle  which  now  rages 
in  every  land!  Is  there  no  one  to  say:  Enough! 
There  can  never  be  anyone  to  bring  back  the  years  of 
happiness  and  beauty  and  youth,  to  give  back  to  those 
of  us  who  are  under  thirty  the  blessed  years  that  war 
has  stolen  from  us.  May  the  curse  of  God  be  on  those 
who  have  found  it  in  their  hearts  to  commit  the  crime 
of  slaying  our  youth  with  their  red  hands,  their  red 
and  aged  hands!  My  mother  and  I  weep  in  silence 
when  we  press  hands,  weep  secret  tears  which  my 
father  may  not  see  and  of  which  he  may  not  know, 
because  cruel  age  has  stolen  the  joy  of  youth,  because 
from  mothers  the  world  over  children  who  belong  only 
to  them  have  been  stolen,  and  thrown,  like  frivolous 
counters,  On  the  green  gambling  table.  Because  of 
the  death  of  thousands  and  hundreds  of  thousands  of 
young  men,  we  weep  in  silence  and  in  secret  before 
the  throne  of  God.  My  mother's  hair  grows  white 
before  its  time  and  her  clear  blue  eyes  are  dulled  with 
tears  because  her  son  has  been  stolen  from  her.  I  am 
the  mouthpiece  of  the  young  men  of  every  land  and  of 
every  people,  sacrificed  to  the  avarice  of  age,  to  the 
ambition  of  the  great,  to  the  lust  for  power  of  old  men 
and  old  women  whose  days  are  already  numbered !  I 
stand  for  youth  that  smiled  but  that  now,  forced  un- 
willingly into  misery  and  death,  weeps  bitterly  in  its 
heart." 

"And  did  you  not  think  these  things  before  your 
last  leave,  before  your  present  flight?" 

"Never  before,  Mabel." 

"Strange.  ..." 

"Why  do  you  say  strange,  Mabel  .  .  .  ?" 

"You  are  right  to  be  afraid,  Leutnant  Reinhard, 
thinking  and  speaking  of  your  mother  and  your  sisters 


^;  y7.pw^>^i^f^f^:^ 


if 


196  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

and  your  vanished  youth !  You  are  right,  on  this  your 
134th  flight,  to  be  afraid  1  Do  you  sec  up  there  toward 
the  sun?" 

"The  sun  is  so  dazzling,  Mabel." 

"Look  eagerly  and  keenly,  for  your  eyes  are  still 
young  .  .  . !     Do  you  not  see  the  dark  point  ?" 

"It  is  moving!" 

"Yes,  it  is  moving  and  directly  over  your  head! 
Is  the  machine-gun  ready,  Leutnant?  Is  your  revol- 
ver ready?" 

"The  black  spot  is  getting  larger.  .  ,  .  Coming 
nearer !" 

*An  English  aeroplane  .  .  . !" 

'An  English  aeroplane." 

'Think  now  of  your  mother,  your  home  and  your 
youth  and  your  early  hopes  and  your  father  and  your 
home  in  the  wood  and  your  sisters.  .  .  .  Do  all  these 
memories  telescope  together  in  the  mirror  of  your 
memory  ?" 

"They  all  telescope  together,  Mabel,  the  memories 
of  many  years  combined  into  the  small  picture  of  a 
few  seconds — twenty  years  of  happiness  and  peace  now 
a  flash,  a  lightning  flash  .  .  .  every  detail  of  those 
years  stands  out  with  a  horrible  clearness  in  my  mind. 
My  mother,  the  school,  the  house,  the  first  holidays  at 
home,  the  mountains,  the  little  girl  I  used  to  know  .  .  . 
everything  within  the  space  of  two  or  three  seconds, 
my  whole  life  in  the  space  of  two  or  three  sec- 
onds ...  1  And  now  I  see  the  figure  of  my  mother 
and  her  hair  is  white  and  her  blue  eyes  are  dull  with 
weeping  .  .  . !    I  cannot  bear  those  eyes,  Mabel !" 

"Look  out,  Leutnant!  The  enemy  'plane  is  close 
upon  you !  See  how  it  sinks,  ever  nearer,  ever  nearer ! 
It  is  no  use  to  fire,  for  the  enemy  is  directly  above 
your  head.  Dart  away,  swoop  to  the  right,  j^unge 
suddenly,  your  only  hope  is  in  lightning  speed !" 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  197 

"Mother!     Mother!    Mother!" 

"Too  late!  You  have  been  hit!  Your  engine  is 
smashed  to  pieces!" 

"Hold  me,  Mabel !  I  am  falling  .  .  .  falling  into 
bottomless  depths.  .  .  .  The  air  roars  in  my  ears!  I 
can  see  nothing  more  I  I  can  hear  only  the  whistling 
of  the  air !    Down  .  .  .  down  .  .  . !" 

"There  is  something  below  you,  Leutnant,  the  hard 
earth  upon  which  in  a  minute  you  will  crash,  a  mere 
shapeless  lump." 

"The  wind  and  the  storm  and  the  rushing  air !  .  .  . 
Down  .  .  .  down  .  .  . !  Crashing  to  meet  the  ground 
to  lie  there,  a  mere  formless  lump." 

Rieth's  horrified  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  madman. 
He  could  not  understand  the  meaning  of  Stim's  ex- 
cited movements.  He  appeared  to  be  falling,  falling 
rapidly  .  .  .  then  suddenly  it  was  all  over.  Seeing 
the  patient  lying  in  a  motionless  heap  on  the  floor, 
Rieth  walked  toward  him  with  the  idea  of  raising  him 
lip.    But  Stirn  whispered: 

"A  shapeless  lump,  merely  a  shattered  lump  of  flesh 
and  splintered  bone.  ..." 


CHAPTER   IX 

T[E  madman  staggered  to  his  feet.     Jumping  up, 
Rieth  ran  to  the  patient  and  supported  him. 
For  a  moment  it  seemed  as  though  he  acknowl- 
edged the  warder's  assistance. 

"That  is  much  better.  .  .  .  Thank  you.  ...  I  feel 
curiously  weak." 

But  Rieth  soon  realized  that  the  words  were  ad- 
dressed, not  to  him,  but  to  the  phantom  figure  created 
by  Stirn's  madness.  He  returned  to  his  chair  and 
left  the  sick  man  to  his  own  devices. 

"My  hair  is  quite  white,  Mabel,  and  my  skin  wrin- 
kled. My  teeth  are  mostly  gone  and  my  hands 
tremble." 

"You  are  now  an  old  man.  Take  your  stick  and 
hobble  after  me.     Do  you  see  where  we  are  going?** 

"I  see  cross  after  cross,  headstone  after  headstone, 
grave  after  grave.     We  are  in  a  churchyard." 

"Do  you  recognize  it?" 

"Indeed  I  do,  Mabel.  I  recognize  it  for  the  church- 
yard in  which  I  buried  my  dear  wife." 

"Twenty-five  years  ,  .  .  and  you  were  not  a  young 
man  when  you  married.  ..." 

"No,  Mabel.  I  was  already  forty-six  when  I  mar- 
ried." 

"Do  you  remember  what  happened  so  long  ago  as 
that?" 

"For  a  year  I  was  happy  and  then  there  came  a  ter- 
rible evening,  when  I  nearly  killed  myself.** 

"What  happened  on  that  evening?" 

"I  came  to  the  hospital  and  they  told  me  that  the 
child  was  alive  but  ..." 

X98 


gSisavio*^  "'-og-'-^x?  irrvx?nff-!K^-^!f%^v- 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  199 

Stirn's  voice  broke  and  for  the  moment  he  sobbed 
bitterly.     Then  he  completed  his  sentence  : 

"That  Marie  was  dead." 

"And  when  you  knew  that  your  wife  was  dead,  you 
wished  to  follow  her  ?" 

"I  wished  to  follow  her,  Mabel." 

"The  revolver  lay  by  your  side  on  your  desk?" 

"On  my  desk  .  .  .  loaded  and  ready,  for  I  knew 
that  Marie  weuld  have  a  difficult  and  dangerous  time 
and  I  had  made  up  my  mind  what  to  do,  should  the 
news  from  the  hospital  be  bad." 

"And  then  at  the  last  moment  you  had  not  the  cour- 
age?" 

"Not  entirely  that,  Mabel.  I  had  been  shown  the 
child  by  the  nurse  and  he  was  so  small  and  helpless 
and,  to  my  eyes,  so  pitifully  like  his  dead  mother,  that 
I  began  to  feel  it  was  my  duty  to  live  for  his  sake." 

"And  do  you  think  you  did  wisely  ?" 

"I  thought  so  at  the  time,  Mabel,  and  my  son  be- 
came the  pride  of  my  life  and  the  star  of  my  declining 
years.  Never  did  he  cause  me  anything  but  joy  and 
in  his  company  I  relived  the  years  of  my  own  youth. 
I  learned  with  him  once  again  to  read  and  write.  He 
shared  his  little  troubles  with  me  and  his  great  troubles. 
...  I  was  more  a  friend  than  a  father.  There  was 
no  dark  comer  of  his  heart  hidden  from  me,  Mabel, 
for  he  knew  that  he  had  given  me  back  my  youth  and 
that  I  was  his  friend." 

"And  then  .  .  .  ?" 

"Then  I  began  to  work,  Mabel,  to  work  with  a  fierce 
industry  and  with  a  constant  eye  on  the  profits  I  was 
making,  for  I  was  working  for  him.  He  must  be 
happy  and  I  would  work  to  make  him  happy.  Like  a 
thousand  fathers  I  became  almost  a  fanatic,  toiling 
early  and  late  so  that  my  son  might  have  a  better  life 
than  I  had  had  myself." 


■.;;3'5S;?W7JT5S1 


200  THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH 


"1 


*And  so  he  grew  up?" 

*He  grew  up  healthy  and  cheerful  and  happy,  the 
image  of  his  mother,  whose  outward  features  and 
inward  characteristics  I  recognized  more  clearly  in 
him  every  day.  We  laughed  and  joked  and  drank  to- 
gether and  ..." 

"This  is  the  result.  .  .  .'* 

"Who  are  all  those  people  there,  Mabel?" 

"They  are  your  friends  and  acquaintances,  come 
to  mourn  with  you;  a  goodly  number,  for  you  are 
much  respected,  old  man,  envied  and  respected  by  your 
fellow  citizens.  You  have  won  decorations  and  official 
honors  and  wealth  and  the  path  of  your  only  son  had 
been  made  smooth  by  your  efforts." 

"And  all  the  soldiers  over  there  in  uniform,  Mabel. 
What  do  they  want?" 

"They  are  there  to  fire  the  salute  over  the  grave, 
old  man." 

"And  the  officer  with  the  sash  ?" 

"He  is  there  to  do  the  last  honor  to  the  dead,  to 
the  comrade  who  fell  facing  the  enemy.  They  will  all 
come  and  shake  your  hand,  old  man,  and  one  after  an- 
other they  will  tell  you  that,  in  these  great  times,  to 
die  for  one's  country  is  the  noblest  fortune  that  can 
befall  a  man." 

"I  have  often  read  that,  Mabel,  but  in  my  heart  I 
have  never  believed  it." 

"Nevertheless  you  must  lie  with  your  mouth,  how- 
ever true  may  be  the  feelings  of  your  heart.  You  must 
shake  a  htmdred  hands,  murmuring  words  of  thanks, 
while  your  soul  cries  out  in  agony  that  anyone  can 
have  the  insolence  to  say  such  things  to  you.  You 
will  smile  in  a  friendly  way,  old  man,  smile  bravely 
through  your  tears,  for  all  those  distinguished  people 
have  come  here  for  your  sake,  old  man,  two  colonels 
and  a  general — ^see  the  gold  stripes  on  his  trousers  and 


l^:lf^t?;i-^-,»«T^s.™»5»'?«^.-. 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  201 


the  golden  epaulettes,  see  the  red-lined  cloak  and  the 
shining  star  on  his  collar — ^they  have  all  come  to  do 
you  honor,  old  man,  honor  ...  1" 

"Be  silent!    My  heart  bleeds.  ..  ." 

"However  much  your  heart  may  bleed,  your  mouth 
must  speak  fair  words  and  your  lips  must  smile." 

"And  the  man  in  the  cassock?" 

"He  will  make  a  dignified  little  speech;  for  his 
sermon  he  will  find  ringing  words,  words.  .  .  .  He  will 
talk  of  the  noble  youth  who  was  true  to  death  and 
who  has  won  the  crown  of  life.  Dead,  tragic,  ridicu- 
lous words  will  be  spoken  by  the  man  in  the  cassock." 

"What  are  they  carrying  over  there,  Mabel  ?" 

"A  coffin,  a  coffin  containing  your  only  son." 

"What  is  that  rushing  noise,  Mabel  ?" 

"Listen  carefully,  old  man,  and  you  will  hear  the 
voice  of  the  poet  murmuring  through  the  rushing  of 
the  wind  ,  .  .  brief,  truncated  sentences,  whimpering 
like  a  child  crying  for  its  mother.  The  procession  is 
falling  into  place.  And  you,  leaning  on  your  stick, 
supported  by  the  minister,  must  totter  behind  the  cof- 
fin, right  to  the  edge  of  the  grave.  .  .  .  And  all  the 
time  that  sound  of  rushing  wind,  like  a  distant  organ, 
like  the  gale  in  the  tree-tops.  ..." 

"The  band  is  striking  up  the  funeral  march.  But 
all  their  drums  and  all  their  trumpets,  cannot  drown 
the  noise  of  the  rushing  wind." 

"They  seek  to  drown  it,  old  man,  but  they  cannot 
do  so;  their  dnmis  and  their  trumpets  are  powerless 
against  such  a  sound." 

"We  are  standing  by  the  grave.  .  .  .  The  words  of 
the  man  in  black  strive  against  the  rushing  sound  but 
are  swept  away.  The  last  chorus  and  the  salute  fired 
over  the  grave  are  dull  as  the  beating  of  fists  upon  the 
floor.  And  all  the  time  it  roars  and  roars  and  I  can  hear 
it,  but  no  one  else  ...  I  seem  now  to  hear  verses !" 


w 


202  THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH 

"Perhaps  the  verses  of  a  German  poet  who  foretold 
in  his  poetry  what  has  come  to  pass.  For  they  say 
that  poets  are  prophets.  ..." 

"Trembling  on  his  crutch  and  weeping  bitterly, 
Who  follows,  with  tragic,  stricken  eyes. 
Who   follows,  tottering,  the  silent  coffin? 
It  seems  the  young  man  murmurs:  'Father!' 
Fearful  eyes  look  pityingly;  and  the  old  man. 
His  long  healed  wounds  reopened  by  his  grief, 
Creeps  white-haired  to  the  open  grave. 
'Father!'     The  whisper  breathes   above  the  grave. 
'My  son!'     The  father's  aching  heart  replies. 
O,  sorrowing  father,  he  that  once  was  gay, 
That  once,  a  sweet  and  golden  dream,  shed  light 
Upon  thy  age,  lies  now  ice-cold — 
Cold,  cold,  ice  cold,  swathed  in  the  clothes  of  death !" 

"Those  are  the  words  of  one  of  your  poets,  old  man, 
a  man  who  knew  nothing,  who  could  have  known  noth- 
ing of  the  Gigantic!" 

"The  Gigantic!" 

The  name  of  terror  rang  through  the  cell.  Rieth 
shuddered  as  he  heard  the  name  of  the  sunken  ship 
echoing  horribly,  interminably,  from  the  padded  wall 
of  the  prison.  For  some  minutes  Stim  was  silent. 
Then  suddenly  he  began  again : 

"Where  am  I  now,  Mabel?  The  churchyard  has 
disappeared  .  .  .  They  have  filled  in  the  grave  and  all 
the  people  who  shook  me  by  the  hand  have  gone,  and 
the  man  in  the  cassock  who  walked  by  my  side  behind 
the  coffin.     They  are  all  gone !" 

"You  are  alone,  old  man,  alone  for  the  rest  of  your 
life,  alone  in  your  home  which  already  totters  over 
your  head  .  .  .  alone  .  .  .  alone  .  .  . !" 

The  madman  wandered  to  the  side  of  the  cell  and 
motioned  as  though  he  were  taking  things  up,  one 
after  another,  fingering  them  and  putting  them  down 
again.  In  a  broken  voice  he  began  muttering  to  him- 
self : 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  203 

"Here  I  wait  alone,  day  after  day,  week  after  week, 
month  after  month,  waiting  for  him  to  come  back  to 
me  to  support  my  age,  to  lighten  my  darkness  and  my 
loneliness ;  but  he  never  comes.  How  I  used  to  long 
for  his  letters  which,  when  they  came,  I  would  raise 
furtively  to  my  lips,  as  though  they  were  letters  from 
my  beloved !  How  I  would  think  out  plans  for  him, 
hoping,  hoping,  that  he  would  come  through  the  war 
in  safety !  How  I  prayed  for  him,  prayed  that  at  least 
this  one  life  might  be  spared,  that  at  least  this  one 
horror  might  be  prevented  1" 

"Thousands  of  old  men  of  every  race  and  in  every 
country  are  praying  the  same  prayer,  old  man,  but  the 
cup  is  set  to  their  lips  and  they  must  drink.  On  board 
the  Gigantic  we  prayed,  but  still  the  cup  was  set  to  our 
lips.  ..." 

The  madman's  movements  changed  again.  He  ap- 
peared to  be  turning  a  key  in  a  lock. 

"I  am  going  to  discard  everything  now,  which  once 
I  accumulated  for  his  sake,  which  is  now  worthless." 

"Where  are  you,  now  ?'* 

"I  am  sitting  alone  at  my  desk,  Mabel,  at  the  desk 
where  I  sat  not  a  week  ago  writing  to  him,  although 
he  was  already  dead." 

"I  see  a  flicker  on  the  walls,  old  man." 

"The  fire  leaps  in  the  chimney,  Mabel. ,  It  is  spring 
outside  but  in  my  heart  it  is  winter.  That  is  why  I 
have  lit  the  fire." 

"Is  that  the  only  reason  ?" 

"No  .  .  . !" 

Stim  made  jerking ^  motions  with  his  arms.  It 
seemed  that  one  after  another  he  was  throwing  objects 
from  him,  tossing  them  all  in  the  same  direction,  as 
though  hurling  ballast  overboard. 

"It  is  burning,  Mabel !  Everything  which  was  once 
holy  to  me  is  burning!    But  now  it  is  all  rubbish. 


204  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

worthless  rubbish!  My  Iron  Cross  that  I  won  in 
1870  is  now  a  little  heap  of  molten  metal.  The  Star 
which  the  Prince  presented  to  me  for  my  services  to 
trade  is  now  a  little  heap  of  ashes." 

"The  flames  leap  higher,  old  man!  What  is  blaz- 
ing now  so  brightly?" 

"Paper,  Mabel,  paper  for  which  to-day  the  world 
is  fighting,  paper  that  governments  have  issued  by  mil- 
lions and  millions,  paper  that  is  counted  for  money, 
that  I  once  counted  for  money  .  .  . !  See  how 
brightly  it  blazes!  See  how  the  flames  dart  and 
quiver!" 

"What  is  that  laughter,  old  man?" 

"The  laughter  of  all  the  devils  of  hell,  Mabel,  the 
laughter  of  betrayers  betrayed,  the  laughter  of  fools 
who  believed  in  this  rubbish — Iron  Crosses,  Stars,  pa- 
per money — ^who  bled  and  died  to  win . . .  molten  iron 
...  a  heap  of  ashes  .  .  .  charred  remnants  of  burned 
paper  .  .  . !  See  how  the  paper  is  sucked  up  the  chim- 
ney into  the  outer  air  and  there  tossed  about,  blown 
hither  and  thither  until  nothing  remains.  .  .  .  Nothing 
remains,  Mabel,  nothing,  nothing,  nothing.  .  .  .  Ha! 
ha !  ha !  .  .  .  The  laughter  of  the  devils,  the  laughter 
of  a  million  beggars,  the  crazy  laughter  of  a  million 
widows  and  learned  men,  of  cripples  and  paralytics,  of 
the  downcast  and  the  miserable  and  the  oppressed. 
For  all  that  remain  are  the  dancing  fragments  of 
charred  paper,  sucked  up  the  chimney,  driven  to  the 
ends  of  the  world  by  every  passing  breeze,  lost  in  the 
darkness  of  the  night .  .  .  Ha!  ha!  ha!  .  .  ." 

Down  the  corridors  of  the  asylum,  breaking  the  mid- 
night silence,  the  idiot  laughter  of  the  madman  rang 
and  echoed.  And  as  the  sound  was  thrown  from  the 
padded  door  to  the  padded  walls  and  through  the  door 
and  through  the  walls  into  the  passages  and  the  other 
cells,  the  madman  danced  and  danced  and  danced.  .  .  . 


ej^^^Yi:   ~>  •  --•  'tr.  y*';  - 


CHAPTER   X 

THE  dance  over,  the  madman  collapsed  motion- 
less upon  the  floor.  He  began  to  rise  slowly 
once  again  and  after  a  while  he  knelt,  his  hands 
clasped  above  his  head.  Rieth  stared  at  him  bewil- 
dered. 

"How  is  It  written?" 

"What  do  you  mean,  Mabel  ?" 

"Blessed  are  they  that  mourn  for  they  shall  be 
comforted.     So  is  it  written." 

"I  can  see  nothing,  Mabel,  my  eyes  are  blinded  with 
tears," 

"Can  you  remember  nothing?" 

"I  had  three  sons,  Mabel.  But  my  loins  are  with- 
ered and  the  spring  of  my  breast  is  dried  up.  I  can 
never  bear  another  son." 

"What  was  the  name  of  your  eldest  son?** 

"I  called  him  'Strength.'  '* 

"And  what  became  of  him?" 

"They  drowned  him  in  the  sea." 

"Like  the  Gigantic!  Tdl  me  the  story  of  your 
eldest  son,  Heart  of  the  World.'* 

"He  was  the  lovely  fruit  of  my  youth's  first  agony, 
Mabel,  and  great  was  my  pride  in  him.  ^^^en  he  was 
bom  the  eyes  of  my  sisters  were  hot  with  jealousy, 
but  for  this  I  cared  nothing  when  they  laid  the  new- 
born child  at  my  breast.  He  grew  up  in  freedom  and 
beauty  and  suppleness  like  a  young  animal.  He  was 
my  pride.  And  when  I  saw  the  nascent  strength  in 
his  young  body,  I  felt  myself  greater  and  richer  and 
happier  than  my  sisters,  to  whom  no  such  son  had 

205 


2o6  THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH 

been  given.  He  ran  more  quickly  than  his  compan- 
ions, wrestling  with  them  he  overcame  them;  he  was 
stronger  than  they  and  braver;  he  feared  nothing. 
Wherefore  his  father  and  I  called  him  'Strength.' 
Then  came  the  war.  .  .  .  Laughing  and  singing  he  left 
me,  with  autumn  leaves  in  his  hair  and  roses  in  his 
hand.  He  mocked  at  danger,  for  in  everjrthing  he  had 
conquered.  He  was  caught,  like  all  our  people,  in  the 
delirium  of  the  moment.  I  believed  that  he  could 
triumph  in  anything  and  therefore  I  let  him  go  joy- 
fully, for  I  also  was  caught  in  the  universal  madness." 

"Until  .  .  .  ?" 

"Until  he  was  drowned." 

"And  the  news  reached  you  ...?'* 

"As  I  sat  with  my  sisters.'* 

"Did  they  comfort  you  ?" 

"At  that  time  I  needed  no  comfort,  Mabel,  for  I 
was  still  proud.  Or  rather  I  thought  myself  proud, 
proud  and  cheerful  in  adversity.  They  used  to  call 
that  pride  *the  spirit  of  our  time'  and,  like  Job,  I  said : 
'The  Lord  gave,  and  the  Lord  hath  taken  away. 
Blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord!'  In  this  spirit  I 
sacrificed  my  eldest  son,  as  thousands  of  my  sisters  in 
every  country  were  sacrificing  their  sons." 

"And  then  they  took  away  your  second  son  ?" 

"And  then  they  took  away  my  second  son,  as  they 
had  taken  away  my  first.  He  was  a  weakling,  but 
they  took  him  nevertheless.  .  .  .  And  he  froze  to  death 
in  Poland.  He  was  the  child  of  my  sorrow  and  my 
tears,  Mabel,  for  in  the  suffering  with  which  I  bore 
him  I  had  not  the  comfort  of  first  pride.  All  the  time 
he  was  growing  within  me  I  felt  weak  and  ill  and  I 
hid  myself  from  the  eyes  of  my  sisters.  .  .  .  He  was 
bom  before  his  time  and  only  his  mother's  care  and  the 
skill  of  the  doctor  kept  him  alive.  Bit  by  bit,  breath 
by  breath,  we  won  him  from  death ;  wherefore  he  be- 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  207 


came  very  dear  to  me  and  I  called  him  *Wisdom.' 
Just  as  his  elder  brother  was  strong,  so  was  he  wise. 
Even  as  a  tiny  child  the  quickness  of  his  mind  de- 
lighted me,  as  had  previously  the  valor  and  iron  will 
of  his  brother  charmed  my  watching  eyes.  He  did 
not  fight  with  his  companions  and  conquer  them,  but 
by  his  intelligence  he  left  them  far  behind.  His 
weapons  were  understanding  and  wise  words,  and 
gradually  the  power  of  his  spirit  strengthened  his  body 
and  before  he  was  thirty  he  had  become  a  great  teacher 
of  youth." 

"And  then  came  the  war?" 

"Then  came  the  war  and  he  left  me  gravely  and 
with  resignation." 

"Without  autumn  leaves  and  roses?" 

"Without  autumn  leaves  or  roses.  The  hour  of  his 
departure  is  ever  a  shadow  on  my  soul,  Mabel.  It  was 
in  the  evening  and  the  lamp  burned  on  the  table  and  he 
said :  We  must  have  no  illusions,  mother ;  we  must  look 
facts  in  the  face.     I  shall  die  and  I  know  it." 

"And  you  replied  .  .  .  ?" 

"I  threw  my  arms  about  his  neck  and  prayed  him 
with  tears  not  to  leave  me.  I  told  him  that  when  his 
brother  died  my  consolation  in  the  night  silences  was 
that  he,  'Wisdom,'  would  remain  with  me,  but  he  re- 
plied: 'Do  not  cry,  mother.  I  shall  die  and  we  must 
make  up  our  minds  to  it.'  So  he  left  me.  .  .  .  Some 
weeks  later,  I  was  standing  in  the  kitchen,  preparing 
a  meal  for  my  youngest  son,  when  there  came  to  the 
door  a  young  girl  with  a  telegram.  ..." 

"And  the  telegram  .  .  .  ?" 

"I  do  not  know.  ...  I  must  have  fainted.  .  .  . 
Weeks  after  I  came  to  myself  in  a  sick  bed  and  saw, 
standing  before  me,  my  third  and  youngest  son.  ..." 

"And  he.  .  .  ?" 

"He  was  in  uniform !" 


2o8  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

"And  did  you  let  him  go?" 

"How  could  I  help  it?  The  law  makes  no  excep- 
tion, Mabel — ^not  even  for  the  youngest  of  my  three 
sons.  He  went  like  a  beast  to  the  sacrifice.  He  was 
so  young — much  younger  than  both  his  brothers — 
barely  twenty  .  .  . !  He  was,  as  it  were,  a  legacy 
from  his  father,  for  my  husband  died  before  he  was 
born.  He  was  the  son  of  my  grief,  the  child  of 
my  husband's  death.  .  .  .  And  I  called  him  'Good- 
ness.' " 

"Why  did  you  call  him  'Goodness'  ?" 

"He  was  not  strong  like  the  eldest,  Mabel,  nor  wise 
like  the  second,  but  his  soul  was  like  a  spring  flower 
opening  in  the  May  sunshine.  I  was  his  sunshine, 
Mabel,  and  I  loved  him  as  though  he  were  a  flower. 
...  I  called  him  'Goodness,'  that  holiest  of  all  names; 
for  it  is  written  that  no  man  is  good  save  God  alone — 
and  he  was  my  God." 

"And  what  became  of  him?" 

"They  murdered  this  youth  in  Flanders." 

"And  you?" 

"I  bore  the  news  without  a  tear,  without  a  move- 
ment, without  a  murmur.  It  was  as  though,  like 
Niobe,  I  had  been  turned  into  stone.  .  .  .  From  that 
day  to  this,  Mabel,  my  heart  is  of  stone.  I  am  turned 
to  ice  or,  like  the  woman  who  looked  back  at  Sodom 
and  Gomorrah,  turned  into  a  pillar  of  salt" 

The  madman  stood  absolutely  motionless,  minute 
after  minute,  like  a  statue.  His  very  muscles  seemed 
to  have  been  robbed  of  life.  The  warder  went  to  him 
and  tried  to  make  his  position  easier,  tried  to  lay  him 
down  upon  the  floor.  But  the  spirit  of  his  raving 
held  him  rigid  and  Rieth*s  efforts  were  unavailing. 
Suddenly,  however,  his  limbs  seemed  to  get  free  and 
he  cried: 

"I  sec,  I  see!    Where  am  I,  Mabel?" 


THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH  209 

"You  are  on  the  mountain  of  knowledge,  Heart  of 
the  World." 

"I  see  millions  and  millions  ...  at  my  feet  I  see 
humanity  crucified,  humanity  stained  with  blood, 
trodden  in  the  dust,  mocked  and  scorned  .  .  . !  I  see 
an  ocean,  a  black  ocean  of  mothers,  raising  their  arms 
to  the  blue  and  pitiless  sky  and  crying :  Enough  .  .  . ! 
Enough  .  .  . !    Enough  .  .  . !" 

"Many  of  them  are  dragging  great  buckets,  Heart 
of  the  World.    See  how  heavy  they  are  .  .  . !" 

"They  are  heavy  with  tears,  Mabel,  with  tears  of 
outraged  motherhood.  .  .  .  They  are  coming!" 

"Yes,  slowly  they  are  climbing  toward  you  up  the 
mountain  of  knowledge,  in  order  to  pour  out  before 
the  throne  of  God  the  salt  water  of  their  tears,  in 
order  to  cry  their  misery  to  the  ears  of  the  All  Just 
And  you  must  drink  all  these  tears,  you  must  hear 
this  endless  complaining.  Awake  .  .  .  Heart  of  the 
World!  Awake  and  cry  out  before  the  face  of  God 
and  before  His  throne!" 

"How  they  cry,  Mabel!  *We  will  have  no  more! 
Enough !  We  will  have  no  more !  The  life  that  you 
have  stolen  belonged  to  us  and  we  will  have  no  more. 
The  springs  of  life  are  dry  in  us,  our  breasts  are  wast- 
ing! We  will  have  no  more.*  So  cry  the  millions 
and  millions  of  mothers,  so  cry  the  crucified  of  human- 
ity!" 

"See  how  they  press  toward  you  up  the  slopes  of 
the  hill  of  knowledge !  Do  you  not  see  in  every  bosom 
the  hilt  of  a  dagger,  a  dagger  plunged  into  their  hearts  ? 
Stand  on  the  topmost  peak  of  the  mountain,  Heart  of 
the  World,  and  speak  to  the  millions  of  sorrowing 
mothers !" 

"What  shall  I  say?" 

"Say  what  I  tell  you,  for  I  that  speak  to  you  am 
the  spirit  of  Mabel  Roade,  the  spirit  of  motherhood. 


2IO  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

whose  babe  was  torn  from  her  breast  and  drowned 
like  a  helpless  kitten  in  the  eternal  waves  of  the  At- 
lantic. Until  the  end  of  all  the  endless  worlds  I  wan- 
der restless  through  time  and  space,  crying,  crying  to 
the  throne  of  God!  Against  the  spirit  of  this  time  I 
cry  out  and  you  shall  cry  with  me.  Heart  of  the  World ! 
See  now,  I  am  naked,  without  a  shred  to  cover  me, 
and  I  stand  with  my  misery  on  the  peak  of  the  moun- 
tain of  knowledge  before  the  world  and  before  the 
throne  of  God!  Shameless  and  naked,  I  expose  to 
the  world  the  wounds  of  motherhood  and  cry,  and 
cry  .  .  . !  I  cry  to  you,  Heart  of  the  World,  that 
'  stand  on  the  hill  of  knowledge  and  before  the  throne : 
*Give  me  back  the  fruit  of  my  body,  that  I  bore  and 
suckled  to  life  and  not  to  death!  Give  me  back  my 
child,  Heart  of  the  World,  and  cry  with  me!'  " 

"From  the  peak  of  the  mountain  of  knowledge, 
Mabel,  I  will  cry  with  you  before  the  throne  of  God 
and  from  world  to  world,  from  everlasting  to  ever- 
lasting, to  the  pitiless  blue  of  heaven !  Hear  how  the 
millions  and  millions  of  mothers  are  crying,  crying  to 
God  to  give  them  back  the  children  that  they  bore  and 
suckled  to  life  and  not  to  death,  the  beings  that  they 
brought  into  the  world  for  joy,  and  not  to  be  pitched 
into  the  yawning  graves  of  Poland,  France  and  Flan- 
ders I" 

"But  God  does  not  listen,  Heart  of  the  World !" 

"No,  Mabel,  God  does  not  listen,  because  God  is 
dead  .  .  . !    God  is  dead  !** 

The  voice  of  the  madman  echoed  through  tfie  cell 
as  though  he  were  pronouncing  the  final  sentence  of 
damnation.  And  he  stood  there,  his  arms  raised  above 
his  head,  in  his  tragic  face  a  light  as  of  transfiguration, 
on  his  white  lips  the  awful  doom  of  the  eternal  judge. 


-  CHAPTER   XI 

HAD  Rieth  possessed  the  necessary  experience, 
he  would  have  grasped,  from  the  phase  of 
comparative  well-being  into  which  Stim's 
madness  was  now  entering,  that  euthanasia  had  set  in 
and  that  the  shadow  of  death  was  already  falling 
across  the  patient's  path. 

"You  are  now  reincarnate  as  Isaiah  the  son  of 
Amos,"  said  the  madman  solemnly. 

As  he  spoke  he  appeared  to  grow  in  stature,  his 
arms  reaching  ever  nearer  to  the  ceiling.  Standing 
on  his  toes,  he  remained  motionless  like  a  bronze  fig- 
ure, but  his  eyes,  a  moment  ago  dull  with  pajn,  now 
flamed  with  a  strange  ecstasy ;  not  the  ecstasy  6i  fever 
but  that  of  an  almost  unearthly  fervor.  And  once 
more,  proudly  and  with  dignity,  he  said : 

"You  are  reincarnate  as  Isaiah  the  son  of  Amos! 
O  prophet  in  Israel,  look  upon  the  soul  of  this  time! 
Bend  down  and  look  into  the  bowels  of  hell  and  tell 
me  what  you  see !" 

Stirn  drooped  his  head,  then  his  body,  until  he 
crouched  as  a  man  crouches  at  the  edge  of  a  chasm, 
his  hands  grilling  the  floor  tightly  to  prevent  himself 
from  pitching  forward.  His  eyes,  as  they  peered 
downward,  seemed  to  grow  larger  and  larger  in  their 
attempt  to  solve  the  riddle  of  hell. 

"What  do  you  see,  Isaiah?" 

"I  see  Chaos." 

"Describe  Chaos  to  me!" 

"I  can  see  nothing  but  darkness  and  cloud  and  mist 
and  lightnings  and  hear  nothing  but  a  deep  and  rolling 
thunder,  rising  from  the  very  depths  of  the  earth.' 

3IZ 


»» 


212  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

■     -'  "" 

"Can  you  distinguish,  can  you  recognize  in  this 
Chaos  the  soul  of  the  age?" 

"My  eyes  are  slowly  getting  accustomed  to  the  dark- 
ness. It  seems  that  a  great  fire  is  sending  a  pillar  of 
flame  through  the  clouds  and  parting  them.  ...  Dimly 
but  ever  more  clearly  I  can  see,  gleaming  in  the  depths, 
a  purple  throne  of  carbuncle.  ..." 

"And  on  this  throne  .  .  .  ?" 

"A  woman,  Mabel,  a  giant  woman,  naked  and  beau- 
tiful; but  her  features  are  hard  and  in  her  black  eyes 
shines  the  wild  flame  of  hatred,  her  breasts  torn 
by  the  claws  of  lasciviousness  and  her  lusts  cannot  be 
appeased." 

"That  is  she,  Isaiah !  That  is  the  soul  of  this  time  I 
Ask  her  who  she  is !" 

"I  have  asked  her,  Mabel,  and  she  replies:  'Seven 
are  the  days  of  the  week  and  seven  is  the  number  of 
my  names,  as  seven  is  the  number  of  the  serpents  which 
surround  my  head.  Each  day  I  have  a  different  name 
and  should  my  domination  and  the  domination  of  this 
war  know  no  end  in  the  eternal  course  of  history,  then 
comes  the  Lamb,  and  the  victorious  one  and  my  enemy, 
of  whom  you  have  been  told.  On  the  first  day  my 
name  is  Lust;  on  the  second.  Avarice;  on  the  third, 
Craving  for  Power ;  on  the  fourth,  Envy ;  on  the  fifth. 
Ambition ;  on  the  sixth.  Falsehood ;  and  on  the  seventh. 
Stubborn  Pride.  For  ever  and  ever,  year  after  year, 
I  live  this  seven-day  life  in  an  unending  circle,  until 
it  is  fulfilled  as  is  written :  Bel.  boweth  down,  Nebo 
stoopeth,  their  idols  were  upon  the  beasts  and  upon 
the  cattle ;  your  carriages  were  heavy  laden,  they  are  a 
burden  to  the  weary  beast ;  they  stoop,  they  bow  down 
together,  they  could  not  deliver  the  burden ;  but  them- 
selves are  gone  into  captivity." 

"What  souls  are  these,  O  woman?" 

"The  souls  of  them  who  have  served  and  still  serve 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  213 

me,  who  work  in  my  name,  the  souls  of  kings  and 
princes,  of  statesmen  and  diplomatists,  of  ministers  and 
wise  men,  of  generals  and  scientists,  souls  that  I  have 
enslaved,  souls  that  I  drag  in  chains  at  the  chariot 
wheels  of  this  time.  .  .  .  See!  I  sit  on  the  golden 
throne  and  rule  over  Babel  and  my  name  is  Lust! 
Countries  and  oceans  are  my  servants  and  as  a  reward 
they  dress  themselves  in  purple  and  fine  linen,  stolen 
from  the  depths  of  the  ocean  and  from  the  silkworms 
of  China.  To  their  service  I  have  oppressed  nation 
after  nation,  so  that  my  courtiers  may  glitter  with 
rubies,  sapphires,  diamonds  and  pearls,  that  my  cour- 
tiers may  command  the  shells  of  the  sea,  the  sands 
of  the  rivers,  the  cliffs  of  the  Himalayas.  Mile  after 
mile  I  have  conquered  with  the  power  of  steam  and 
with  the  miracle  of  electricity,  so  that  my  courtiers  can 
fill  their  stomachs  with  the  delicacies  of  the  Indies, 
with  the  fruits  that  grow  in  the  sunny  tropics.  My 
power  has  made  it  possible  for  them  to  smear  their 
bodies  with  ointments  and  oils,  to  scent  their  hair  with 
rose-water  and  their  garments  with  musk.  They 
were  idle  and  dirty,  but  stronger  than  their  idleness  or 
their  filth  was  their  avarice!  Avarice,  my  glittering 
second  name,  taught  my  servants  to  gather  gold,  so  to 
order  their  beliefs  and  words  that  ever  more  dead 
gold  fell  into  their  hands.  They  learned  to  print  paper 
and  to  call  it  money,  to  pile  up  their  dividends! 
Thanks  to  red  gold,  I  possess  them  body  and  soul,  for 
they  sold  me  everything  that  I  asked  for — ^love  and 
honor  and  friendship  and  plighted  word  and  solemn 
promise.  Not  a  single  one  withstood  me,  and  I  could 
say  with  safety  that  if  I  found  ten  just  men  in  Sodom 
I  would  spare  her,  for  I  know  well  that  I  should  never 
find  even  ten.  .  .  .  Then  I  enter  upon  the  third  day  of 
my  weekly  cycle  and  my  craving  for  power  has  thrown 
thousands  and  millions  into  chains.    All  the  peoples 


214  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

of  the  world  fell  on  their  knees  and  trembled  before  my 
power.  My  poison  I  dropped  into  the  hearts  of  their 
kings  and  rulers,  whispering  in  their  ears:  You  shall 
have  power  over  other  nations,  for  your  nation  is  the 
nation  of  the  future,  the  chosen  people  of  whom  it  is 
written :  And  I  will  make  of  thee  a  great  nation,  and 
I  will  bless  thee,  and  make  thy  name  great;  and  thou 
shalt  be  a  blessing:  and  I  will  bless  them  that  bless 
thee,  and  curse  him  that  curseth  thee,  and  in  thee  shall 
all  families  of  the  earth  be  blessed. 

"And  they  believed  me.  Then  began  my  fourth 
day  and  I  called  myself  Envy  and  became  quite  yellow, 
like  the  bars  of  gold  which  I  had  shown  to  them. 
And  through  my  eyes  they  saw  lands  and  seas  which 
they  had  not  yet  conquered,  fields  of  wealth  over  which 
they  did  not  yet  rule,  opportunities  of  becoming  richer 
and  richer  and  richer.  .  .  .  The  final  span  of  my 
weekly  life  rolled  triumphantly  to  its  fulfilment.  As 
a  prop  to  Ambition  I  used  Falsehood ;  my  falsehood  I 
supported  with  Stubborn  Pride.  For  ever  I  am  su- 
preme! Who  is  there  to  hurl  me  from  my  throne, 
who,  among  the  miserable  creatures  that  I  have  spurred 
with  lust,  whose  hearts  I  have  locked  in  avarice,  whose 
ears  I  have  deafened  with  the  thunderous  desire  for 
power,  whose  eyes  I  have  dazzled  with  the  mirror  of 
envy,  whose  minds  I  have  bound  to  the  chariot  of  am- 
bition, whose  lips  I  have  smeared  with  the  paint  of 
lies,  whose  necks  I  have  stiffened  with  the  pride  of 
stubbornness — ^who,  among  all  these,  shall  rise  against 
me  and  against  my  throne  ?" 

"Destroy  her,  Isaiah!" 

"I?     How  shall  I  destroy  her?" 

"With  the  lightning  of  your  mouth  and  the  sword 
of  your  tongue;  with  the  whip  of  prophecy.  Speak 
to  her!" 

"Come,  daughter  of  Babel,  come  down  into  the  dust !" 


THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH  215 


*My  throne  is  firm.     I  shall  not  come  down !" 

^Daughter  of  the  Chaldeans,  your  throne  is  over- 
come!" 

"Foolish  man!  From  everlasting  to  everlasting  I 
shall  rule!" 

"Once  more,  Isaiah,  speak  to  her  once  more!  Hurl 
her  from  her  throne !" 

"Come  down  and  sit  in  the  dust,  O  virgin,  daughter 
of  Babylon!     Sit  on  the  ground  (there  is  no  throne), 

0  daughter  of  the  Chaldeans !  For  thou  shalt  no  more 
be  called  tender  and  delicate.  Take  the  millstones  and 
grind  meal ;  Uncover  thy  locks,  make  bare  the  leg,  Un- 
cover the  thigh,  pass  over  the  rivers.  Thy  nakedness 
shall  be  uncovered.  Yea,  thy  shame  shall  be  seen;  I 
will  take  vengeance,  And  I  will  not  meet  thee  as  a  man. 

"As  for  our  Redeemer,  the  Lord  of  hosts  is  his 
name,  The  Holy  One  of  Israel.  Sit  thou  silent,  and 
get  thee  into  darkness,  O  daughter  of  the  Chaldeans ! 
For  thou  shalt  no  more  be  called  The  Lady  of  king- 
doms. 

"I  was  wroth  with  my  people,  I  have  polluted  mine 
inheritance.  And  given  them  into  thine  hand;  Thou 
didst  show  them  no  mercy.  Upon  the  ancient  hast 
thou  very  heavily  laid  thy  yoke.     And  thou  saidst, 

1  shall  be  a  lady  for  ever;  So  that  thou  didst  not  lay 
these  things  to  thy  hearty  Neither  didst  remember  the 
latter  end  of  it. 

"Therefore  hear  now  this,  thou  that  art  given  to 
pleasures,  that  dwellest  carelessly ;  That  sayest  in  thine 
heart,  I  am,  and  none  else  beside  me;  I  shall  not  sit  as 
a  widow.  Neither  shall  I  know  the  loss  of  children. 
But  these  two  things  shall  come  to  thee  in  a  moment ; 
in  one  day.  The  loss  of  children  and  widowhood ;  They 
shall  come  upon  thee  in  their  perfection ;  For  the  mul- 
titude of  thy  sorceries.  And  for  the  great  abundance  of 
thine  enchantments. 


2i6  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

"For  thou  hast  trusted  in  thy  wickedness,  Thou 
hast  said,  None  seeth  me ;  Thy  wisdom  and  thy  knowl- 
edge, it  hath  perverted  thee;  And  thou  hast  said  in 
thine  heart  I  am,  and  none  else  beside  me.  Therefore 
shall  evil  come  upon  thee.  Thou  shalt  not  know  from 
whence  it  riseth;  And  mischief  shall  fall  upon  thee. 
Thou  shalt  not  be  able  to  put  it  off;  And  desolation 
shall  come  upon  thee  suddenly,  Which  thou  shalt  not 
know. 

"Stand,  now,  with  thine  enchantments.  And  with 
the  multitude  of  thy  sorceries.  Wherein  thou  hast 
labored  from  thy  youth;  H  so  be  thou  shalt  be  able  to 
profit.  If  so  be  thou  mayest  prevail.  Thou  art  wearied 
in  the  multitude  of  thy  counsels ;  Let  now  the  astrolo- 
gers, the  star-gazers,  the  monthly  prognosticators, 
Stand  up,  and  save  thee.  From  these  thingfs  that  shall 
come  upon  thee. 

"Behold,  they  shall  be  as  stubble,  the  fire  shall  burn 
them;  They  shall  not  deliver  themselves  from  the 
power  of  the  flame ;  There  shall  not  be  a  coal  to  warm 
at.  Nor  fire,  to  sit  before  it. 

"Thus  shall  they  be  unto  thee  with  whom  thou  hast 
labored.  Even  thy  merchants,  from  thy  youth;  They 
shall  wander  every  one  to  his  quarter,  None  shall  save 
thee." 

"What  is  the  woman  doing  now,  Isaiah  ?" 

"She  rises  and  trembles!  But  crowds  and  crowds 
are  gathering  to  help  her  and  she  laughs  mockingly 
at  my  words !" 

"Millions  and  millions  of  armed  men  obey  me  and 
any  one  that  does  not  obey  me  is  shot !  Millions  are 
dying  for  me  and  when  they  are  dead  I  stamp  upon 
the  ground  and  fresh  millions  are  bom!  Day  and 
night  a  thousand  brains  are  working  for  me,  thinking 
out  plans,  creating  an  atmosphere,  all  in  my  service!" 

"In  vain!  In  vain!  Your  pride  and  the  deaths 
of  these  men  are  all  in  vain." 


«' 

"] 

«' 


THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH  217 

"I  have  ships!" 

"They  are  blockaded!" 

"I  have  cruisers!" 

"They  are  sunk!" 

"I  have  submarines  I" 
'They  are  ambushed  and  destroyed !" 
*I  have  ZeppeHns !" 
They  shiver  into  atoms!" 

"I  have  poisonous  gases!" 

"They  are  conquered  by  masks  I" 

"I  have  mortars!" 

"They  are  surpassed !" 

"I  have  machine  gfuns!" 

"They  are  worn  out!" 

"I  have  wire  entanglements,  in  which  my  enemies 
are  caught!" 

"They  have  shears  to  cut  your  wire !" 

"I  have  ...  I  have  .  .  .  Tell  them,  slaves,  what  else 
I  have!" 

"To  whom  is  the  woman  speaking?" 

"To  her  astrologers.  One  of  them,  who  wears  a 
long  black  garment  adorned  with  the  moon  and  the 
sun  and  the  stars,  rubs  his  hands,  bows  to  left  and 
right  and  smiles.  .  .  .  And  now  he  speaks,  speaks  like 
a  book.  .  ,  .  And  the  woman,  red  with  anger,  turns 
away  from  him,  for  there  are  thousands  standing  be- 
fore her  throne  crying  for  the  blood  of  the  astrologer. 
.  .  .  She  turns  to  a  mighty  man  who  stands,  like 
Samson,  with  a  jaw-bone  of  an  ass  in  his  hand,  and 
calls,  calls.  .  .  .  And  multitude  after  multitude  rise 
from  the  ground,  army  after  army,  and  the  woman 
claps  her  hands  and  laughs  for  joy." 

"And  now?" 

"A  sorcerer  kneels  before  the  throne.  She  raises 
him  up  and  kisses  him.  He  performs  miracles,  chang- 
ing water  into  wine  and  milk,  scobs  into  wheat,  offal 


■■m 


2i8  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

■  l^»^— —   M        III      ■■    I    I    I  ■■■  ■        ■■■  ■  I      I    I        ■  I  I  I  .1—    in,  ,,|.        I  .1      .1     I        lip.l  ■         .II1I.M     I        |»— 1_^ 

into  sausage,  paper  into  gold — roll  after  roll  of  paper, 
millions  and  millions  of  miles  of  paper  turned  by  the 
woman's  sorcerer  into  gold !  And  the  multitude  cries : 
This  paper  is  as  good  as  gold  and  we  have  confidence 
in  you,  O  sorcerer!  And  a  hundred  thousand  arms 
bearing  shears  are  stretched  toward  the  throne  of  the 
woman  and  seek  to  cut  pieces  off  this  roll  of  paper." 

"And  the  woman?" 

"Again  she  claps  her  hands  and  she  applauds  the 
sorcerer — but  suddenly  a  great  voice  thunders  from 
above :  I  am  the  Lord  thy  God.  Thou  shalt  have  no 
other  God  but  me !" 

"Does  the  woman  turn  pale  ?'* 

"Scarlet,  rather,  with  anger!  Rising  from  her 
throne  she  shakes  her  fist  toward  the  sky  and  cries: 
I  will  destroy  you!  And  the  astrologer  smiles,  and 
the  mighty  man  stamps  with  his  foot  on  the  ground, 
and  the  sorcerer,  the  sweat  pouring  from  his  face, 
turns  ever  more  paper  into  gold.  .  .  .  And  the  armies 
dance  like  madmen  round  the  naked  body  of  the  wom- 
an and  around  her  throne,  crying:  Long  life  to  the 
woman!  Hail  to  the  sorcerer  to  whom  is  kingdom 
and  power  and  glory  for  ever  and  ever !" 

"And  is  there  not  one  that  doubts  ?" 

"Not  one!" 

"Is  there  not  one  that  wavers  ?" 

"Not  one!  They  gaze  upon  the  woman's  breasts 
and  upon  her  spreading  thighs  and  all  believe  and  not 
one  doubts,  not  one  of  the  millions  and  millions,  throng- 
ing about  the  throne  of  carbuncle !" 

"Then  it  is  for  you  to  change,  Isaiah !  Take  these 
new  weapons  and  slay  the  woman!  Slay  the  soul  of 
this  time!" 


CHAPTER   XII 

"  T^  AVID,  son  of  Jesse,  you  that  slew  Goliath  the 

I    M  giant,   take   your   weapons   and  slay   the 

•*-^    woman !" 

"How  shall  I  slay  her,  Mabel?" 

"Climb  down  into  the  chasm,  and  destroy  her!" 

The  sick  man's  movements  became  positively  gro- 
tesque. So  agitated  was  he,  that  the  warder  made  a 
vain  attempt  to  soothe  him.  With  the  strength  of  mad- 
ness, Stim  threw  off  his  powerful  jailor's  restraining 
hands.  The  latter,  comforting  himself  with  the  re- 
flection that  the  mattressed  walls  and  floors  would  pre- 
serve the  patient  from  any  actual  harm,  gave  up  the 
attempt  and  returned  to  his  chair  in  the  comer. 

The  madman  made  movements  as  though  he  were 
climbing,  carefully  lowering  one  hand  after  another 
down  the  wall,  and  at  the  same  time  feeling  his  way 
downwards  with  his  feet. 

The  chasm  goes  ever  deeper,  Mabel !" 

Thousands  and  thousands  of  feet,  David,  until  the 
very  centre  of  the  earth  is  reached." 

"My  hands  are  bleeding,  Mabel,  and  the  rock  is 
slippery !" 

"Be  bold  and  hold  firm,  for  the  blood  which  streams 
from  your  hands  clings  to  the  rock  and  bears  you  up." 

"Deeper,  deeper.  ...  I  am  stifling,  Mabel!" 

"You  are  breathing  the  poisonous  gases  invented  by 
the  woman's  helpers.    Here  is  a  mask." 

The  madman  motioned  as  though  he  were  fixing 
something  with  both  hands  in  front  of  his  face. 

"Have  you  reached  the  bottom  yet,  David?" 

2xg 


y.-TiSg 


2  20  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

"Not  yet,  Mabel.  Pillars  of  fire  blaze  round  the 
throne  of  carbuncle  and  block  my  way.  .  .  .  And  now 
I  see  a  dog  with  three  heads,  that  breathes  pitch  and 
sulphur." 

"Strike  the  dog  with  your  spear,  David,  and  go 
without  fear  through  the  furnace,  for  your  garment 
is  made  of  asbestos !" 

"With  my  spear  I  have  pierced  the  dog  through  the 
heart,  Mabel,  with  my  sword  I  have  smitten  off  his 
three  heads,  but  three  new  heads  have  grown  in  their 
place!" 

"Trample  him  under  foot,  David,  crush  his  head  like 
the  head  of  a  serpent,  and  walk  through  the  fire  1" 

"I  have  trodden  his  head  under  my  foot,  but  he  has 
bitten  me  in  the  heel.     My  heel  bleeds  .  .  .  !'* 

"Press  on  through  the  fire,  David !  Can  you  see  the 
woman  ?" 

"No,  Mabel.  The  throne  is  empty  and  the  woman 
with  her  astrologers  and  her  mighty  men  and  her  sor- 
cerers has  vanished." 

"What  is  that  upon  the  step  to  the  throne,  David  ?" 

"A  seven-headed  serpent,  Mabel,  which  writhes  its 
heads  and  darts  poisoned  fangs  from  its  open  jaws." 

"Slay  the  serpent,  David,  for  it  is  the  woman  creep- 
ing in  the  disguise  of  avarice!  Cut  off  the  serpent's 
heads!" 

"Every  one  of  its  seven  heads  have  I  cut  off,  Mabel, 
but  new  heads  have  grown  in  their  place !" 

"Tread  it  down  with  your  foot;  and  do  not  shrink 
if  once  again  you  are  wounded  in  the  heel,  for  it  is 
written  that  such  should  come  to  pass." 

"I  have  done  so,  Mabel,  but  now  there  is  sitting  a 
lion  upon  the  throne !" 

"The  woman  has  changed  herself  into  the  image  of 
ambition!  Draw  your  sword  from  its  sheath  and 
strike  off  the  head  of  her  ambition  1" 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  221 

"She  has  seven  heads,  Mabel." 

"Strike  off  all  seven !" 

Seven  times,  with  the  sweat  standing  upon  his  fore- 
head, the  madman  made  with  his  arm  a  curious  strik- 
ing motion.    Then  he  spoke  again : 

"The  lion  will  not  die,  and  changes  before  my  very 
eyes  into  a  dragon,  from  whose  mouth  comes  a  burn- 
ing stream  of  lava !" 

"Your  garment  is  of  asbestos,  David,  and  you  must 
press  forward  through  the  lava  stream.  What  color 
is  the  dragon  and  where  is  it  crouching?" 

"Sulphur  yellow,  Mabel,  and  it  crouches  near  the 
throne  on  a  heap  of  gold  and  jewels.  Its  breath 
streams  out  like  lava  from  a  volcano !" 

"The  woman's  envy  will  allow  no  one  to  approach 
her  treasure,  but  you,  David,  carry  the  sUng  of  God, 
so  speak  to  the  dragon  as  once  you  spoke  to  Goliath 
the  Philistine!" 

"Thou  comest  to  me  with  a  sword,  and  with  a  spear 
and  with  a  shield,  but  I  come  to  thee  in  the  name  of 
the  Lord  of  Hosts,  the  God  of  the  armies  of  Israel, 
whom  thou  hast  defied !" 

"Now  sling  your  stone !" 

Stim  raised  his  right  arm,  bent  backwards  to  gain 
more  impetus  for  the  throw,  and  then  brought  his  arm 
rapidly  forward  as,  in  imagination,  the  missile  sped 
upon  its  way. 

"Have  you  smitten  him?" 

"I  have  smitten  him,  Mabel,  and  the  dragon  bleeds 
from  a  wound  in  his  forehead.  He  roars  with  pain 
and  spits  fire  over  his  heap  of  treasure." 

"Press  on  through  the  lava,  David,  and  slay  the 
dragon  with  your  sword,  as  formerly  you  slew  Goliath 
among  the  Philistines !" 

"i  cannot,  Mabel.  Wings  have  grown  into  the 
dragon's  back  and  he  mounts  into  the  air,  circling 


■{-. .  *. 


222  THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH 

above  the  throne  like  an  eagle.    He  is  not  a  dragon, 
Mabel,  but  a  griffin !" 

"The  woman  in  the  guise  fitted  to  her  craving  for 
power !  Seize  the  quiver  from  your  back,  set  an  arrow 
to  the  bow  and  with  one  shot  bring  the  evil  thing  tum- 
bling to  the  ground !" 

With  set  face  and  staring  eyes,  the  madman  shot  his 
arrow.  As  the  warder  sat  gazing  in  horror,  Stirn. 
suddenly  broke  into  hideous  laughter  that  rang  through 
the  passages  of  the  asylum.  In  a  voice  of  wild  tri- 
umph, he  cried : 

"I  have  hit  him,  Mabel!    The  griffin  falls!" 

"Is  he  dead,  David?" 

"His  body  is  dead,  Mabel,  but  from  it  rises  a  poi- 
sonous green  mist." 

"Lies  .  .  .  lies  .  .  .  lies  .  .  .!  Slay  the  lies,  tread 
them  under  your  feet,  crush  them  into  nothing!" 

"I  cannot,  Mabel,  for  only  the  Lamb  that  bears 
the  sins  of  the  earth  can  be  a  slayer  of  falsehood, 
and  the  Lamb  does  not  come,  Mabel — ^not  yet,  not 
yet  .  .  ." 

"So  my  spirit  wanders  in  vain,  for  the  Lamb  does 
not  come!  The  mist  of  lies  still  floats  above  the  body 
of  the  griffin,  David  ?" 

"Already  it  changes,  Mabel,  and  I  see  a  beast  with 
huge  legs  and  a  huge  stomach  and  a  long  neck  like  a 
swan  .  .  .!  Now  the  beast  takes  on  the  guise  of  a 
horse  and  I  see  a  noble  horse,  Mabel,  set  in  the  depth 
of  the  chasm.  By  the  horse,  which  is  rigid  and  mo- 
tionless as  though  moulded  out  of  bronze,  stands  a 
giant,  who  is  casting  a  spell  upon  it,  in  order  to  tame 
it.  The  horse  is  dazed  and  foolish  and  falls  under 
the  spell.  The  horse  is  bewitched  into  stubborn  pride 
and  now  refuses  to  move  at  the  command  of  the  giant, 
stamping  with  its  hoofs,  shaking  its  mane,  lashing  its 
tail  and  breathing  fire  from  its  nostrils.    In  vain  does 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  223 

the  giant  attempt  to  bridle  it,  the  horse  in  its  stubborn 
pride  prevents  him." 

"Slay  the  horse!  draw  the  knife  I  gave  you  and 
plunge  it  in  the  horse's  heart." 

"I  cannot,  Mabel !  For  now  the  stubbornness  of 
the  horse  becomes  pitiful  and  it  seems  as  though,  if  it 
could  throw  off  the  bonds  that  bind  it,  it  would  be  a 
noble  beast.  But  every  moment  it  becomes  more  sub- 
ject to  the  spell,  every  moment  it  plunges  more  wildly 
about  the  depths  of  the  chasm.  Where  is  the  man  to 
bridle  this  horse,  where  is  the  spirit  to  subdue  its 
stubbornness  ?'* 

Is  there  no  one  to  break  the  spell  ?" 

'There  is  one  can  do  so,  Mabel,  and  that  is  Chronos 
— ^Time.  Chronos,  who  ate  his  own  children,  Chronos, 
and  not  the  giant,  will  subdue  the  horse  .  .  .!  But 
already  the  horse  has  disappeared  into  the  shadows  of 
the  chasm  and,  looking  after  it,  I  see  the  future,  im- 
mense, in  the  likeness  of  the  beast  !'* 

"Some  one  speaks  to  you,  David.  Who  speaks  to 
you  in  the  chasm?" 

"One  of  the  seven  angels,  Mabel,  that  hold  the  vials 
full  of  the  wrath  of  God,  until  the  word  is  g^ven  for 
the  vials  to  be  poured  out  over  the  earth." 

"What  does  the  angel  say,  David?" 

"The  angel  says :  Come  hither  and  I  will  show  unto 
thee  the  judgment  of  the  great  whore  that  sitteth  upon 
many  waters,  with  whom  the  kings  of  the  earth  have 
committed  fornication  and  the  inhabitants  of  the  earth 
have  been  made  drunk  with  the  wine  of  her  fornica- 
tion. .  .  .  The  very  chasm  vanishes,  Mabel,  and  I  see 
the  desert  of  Sinai  and  in  the  distance  the  mountains, 
and  in  the  desert  the  woman,  sitting  upon  a  scarlet- 
colored  beast  full  of  names  of  blasphemy,  having  seven 
heads  and  ten  horns.  And  the  woman  is  arrayed  in 
purple  and  scarlet  color  and  decked  with  gold  and 


.*T« 


224  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

precious  stones  and  pearls,  having  a  golden  cup  in  her 
hand  full  of  abominations  and  filthiness." 

"And  what  is  written  on  the  woman's  forehead, 
David?" 

*The  mystery,  Mabel ;  Babylon  the  Great,  the  mother 
of  harlots  and  abomination  of  the  earth." 

"How  does  the  woman  look,  David  ?" 

"She  is  drunk  with  all  the  blood  that  she  has  swal- 
lowed." 

"The  angel  speaks  with  you  further,  David.  What 
does  he  say?" 

"He  says:  'The  woman  which  thou  seest  is  that 
great  city  which  reigneth  over  the  kings  of  the  earth.'  " 

"And  what  will  become  of  the  woman  that  reigneth 
over  the  kings  of  the  earth?  Do  you  now  read  the 
future,  David  ?" 

"I  see  another  angel  come  down  from  heaven,  cry- 
ing mightily  with  a  strong  voice :  Babylon  the  great  is 
fallen,  is  fallen,  and  is  become  the  habitation  of  devils, 
and  the  hold  of  every  foul  spirit,  and  a  cage  of  every 
imclean  and  hateful  bird.  For  all  nations  have  drunk 
of  the  wine  of  the  wrath  of  her  fornication;  and  the 
kings  of  the  earth  have  committed  fornication  with 
her,  and  the  merchants  of  the  earth  are  waxed  rich 
through  the  abundance  of  her  delicacies." 

"Has  the  angel  finished  speaking?" 

"He  has  finished,  Mabel,  but  I  hear  the  voice  of  an- 
other angel  saying :  Come  out  of  her,  my  people ;  that 
ye  be  not  partakers  of  her  sins,  and  that  ye  receive  not 
of  her  plagues.  For  her  sins  have  reached  unto  the 
heavens,  and  God  hath  remembered  her  iniquities.  Re- 
ward her  even  as  she  rewarded  you,  and  double  unto 
her  double  according  to  her  works;  in  the  cup  which 
she  hath  filled,  fill  to  her  double.  How  much  she  hath 
glorified  herself  and  lived  deliciously,  so  much  tor- 
ment and  sorrow  give  her.    For  she  saith  in  her  heart. 


THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH  225 

I  sit  a  queen,  and  am  no  widow,  and  I  shall  see  no 
sorrow.  Therefore  shall  her  plagues  come  in  one 
day,  death  and  mourning  and  famine ;  and  she  shall  be 
utterly  burned  with  fire.  For  strong  is  the  Lord  God 
who  judgeth  her. 

"And  the  kings  of  the  earth,  who  have  committed 
fornication  and  lived  deliciously  with  her,  shall  bewail 
her  and  lament  for  her,  when  they  shall  see  the  smoke 
of  her  burning;  standing  afar  off  for  the  fear  of  her 
torment,  saying:  Alas,  Alas,  that  great  city  Babylon, 
that  mighty  city!  For  in  one  hour  is  thy  judgment 
come." 

The  madman's  voice  rang  with  prophetic  solemnity. 
After  a  moment's  silence  he  spoke  again : 

"Has  the  second  angel  ceased  to  speak,  David?" 

"The  second  angel  has  ceased,  Mabel,  but  now  I  see 
a  great  angel  which  takes  up  a  stone  like  a  great  mill- 
stone, and  casts  it  into  the  sea,  saying :  Thus  with  vio- 
lence shall  that  great  city  Babylon  be  thrown  down, 
and  shall  be  foimd  no  more  at  all.  And  in  her  was 
found  the  blood  of  prophets  and  of  saints,  and  of  all 
that  were  slain  upon  the  earth." 

As  he  said  the  last  words  the  sick  man's  voice  grew 
faint,  flickered  like  a  dying  candle-flame  and  died  in 
a  ghostly  whisper.  He  lay  motionless  on  the  floor  and, 
as  Rieth  hurried  over  to  him,  seemed  at  first  to  be 
dead.  But  he  was  still  breathing  and,  in  a  few  mo- 
ments, tottered  once  more  to  his  feet. 


CHAPTER  Xm 

«  y    SEE  the  sea,  Mabel." 

I         "The  Atlantic,  in  which  the  Gigantic  sank?" 
-*•        "No,  Mabel,  but  a  calm,  blue,  southern  sea, 
wide  and  magnificent." 

"You  are  on  the  isle  of  Patmos." 

"I  have  a  long  white  beard,  Mabel,  and  my  hair  is 
like  snow.    Who  am  I?" 

"You  are  he  that  saw  the  red  beast  and  the  woman 
clothed  in  purple  and  scarlet  color.  You  are  John  the 
Evangelist." 

"I  see  a  long  road  behind  me,  Mabel." 

"The  years  of  your  age  are  103,  John,  but  your  heart 
IS  pure. 

"My  heart  is  pure  because  I  was  the  disciple  that  He 
loved." 

"You  are  happy,  in  order  that  the  promise  made  to 
you  may  be  fulfilled  that,  as  one  who  is  pure  of  heart, 
you  should  see  God.    What  do  you  see?" 

"I  see  seven  golden  candlesticks;  and  in  the  midst 
of  the  seven  candlesticks  one  like  unto  the  Son  of  Man, 
clothed  with  a  garment  down  to  the  foot,  and  girt 
about  the  paps  with  a  golden  girdle.  His  head  and 
his  hairs  are  white  like  wool,  as  white  as  snow;  and 
his  eyes  are  as  a  flame  of  fire;  and  his  feet  like  unto 
fine  brass,  as  if  they  burned  in  a  furnace ;  and  his  voice 
as  the  sound  of  many  waters.  And  he  hath  in  his  right 
hand  seven  stars ;  and  out  of  his  mouth  goeth  a  sharp 
two-edged  sword;  and  his  countenance  is  as  the  sun 
shineth  in  his  strength." 

"Bow  down  to  the  dust  before  him !" 

926 


THE    SHIP   OF   DEATH  227 

"I  fall  before  him  like  a  dead  man.'' 

"For  a  few  moments  Stim  lay  motionless  upon  the 
floor.    Then  he  began  once  more : 

"And  he  lays  his  right  hand  upon  me,  saying  unto 
me :  *Fear  not,  I  am  the  first  and  last.  I  am  He  that 
liveth  and  I  was  dead  and  behold  I  am  alive  for  ever- 
more and  have  the  keys  of  hell  and  of  death.'  He 
speaks  further:  *To  him  that  overcometh  vice  I  give 
to  eat  of  the  tree  of  life  which  is  in  the  midst  of  the 
paradise  of  God.' " 

"You  are  103  years  old,  John,  and  you  have  over- 


come.'* 


"He  speaks  further,  Mabel,  and  says :  *To  him  that 
overcometh  will  I  give  to  eat  of  the  hidden  manna. 
And  I  will  give  him  a  white  stone  and  in  the  stone  a 
new  name  written,  which  no  man  knoweth  saving  he 
that  receiveth  it  And  he  that  overcometh  and  keep- 
eth  my  works  to  the  end,  to  him  will  I  give  power  over 
the  nations  and  he  shall  rule  them  with  a  rod  of  iron, 
as  the  vessels  of  a  potter  shall  they  be  broken  into 
shivers." 

"I  can  hear  his  voice  crying,  John,  but  I  cannot  dis- 
tinguish the  words  of  his  mouth.     What  is  he  saying  ?" 

"Behold  I  come  quickly.  Hold  that  fast  which  thou 
hast,  that  no  man  take  thy  crown." 

"What  are  you  gazing  at,  John  ?'* 

"I  am  gazing  to  heaven,  for  the  door  of  heaven  is 
open  and  a  voice,  as  it  were  of  a  trumpet,  cries :  *Come 
up  hither  and  I  will  show  thee  things  which  must  be 
hereafter!'" 

"And  what  do  you  see,  John?" 

"I  see  a  throne  set  in  heaven,  and  One  sits  on  the 
throne  and  he  is  to  look  upon  like  a  jasper  and  a  sar- 
dian  stone.  And  there  is  a  rainbow  round  about  the 
throne,  in  sight  like  unto  an  emerald.  And  round 
about  the  throne  are  four  and  twenty  seats ;  and  upon 


228  THE  SHIP  OF  DEATH 

the  seats  I  see  four  and  twenty  elders  sitting,  clothed 
in  white  raiment  and  on  their  heads  crowns  of  gold. 
And  out  of  the  throne  proceed  lightnings  and  thunder- 
ings  and  voices,  and  there  are  seven  lamps  of  fire  burn- 
ing before  the  throne,  which  are  the  seven  spirits  of 
God.  And  I  see  a  sea  of  glass  like  unto  crystal.  And 
in  the  midst  of  the  throne  and  round  about  the  throne 
are  four  beasts  full  of  eyes  before  and  behind.  And 
the  first  beast  is  like  a  lion,  and  the  second  beast  like  a 
calf,  and  the  third  beast  has  a  face  of  a  man,  and  the 
fourth  beast  is  like  a  flying  eagle.  And  the  four 
beasts  have  each  of  them  six  wings  about  him  and 
they  are  full  of  eyes  within." 

"And  what  do  the  beasts  say,  John  ?" 

"Night  and  day  they  say:  Holy,  holy  holy.  Lord 
God  Almighty.     That  was  and  is  and  is  to  come." 

"And  is  to  come  .  .  . !" 

A  sudden  cry  of  joy  came  from  the  lips  of  the  sick 
man.     As  the  warder  started,  Stim  cried : 

"I  see  it,  Mabel!    I  see  the  Lamb!" 

"Where,  John  ?" 

"In  the  midst  of  the  throne  and  of  the  four  beasts 
and  in  the  midst  of  the  elders,  stands  the  Lamb  as  it 
had  been  slain,  having  seven  horns  and  seven  eyes, 
which  are  the  seven  spirits  of  God  sent  forth  unto  all 
the  earth." 

"Sent  forth  to-day,  John,  sent  forth  unto  all  the 
earth  .  .  . !" 

"I  hear  harps,  Mabel,  and  I  see  smoke  rising  round 
the  throne  and  toward  the  rainbow  and  around  Him 
that  sits  upon  the  throne  whose  face  is  like  a  jasper 
and  a  sardian  stone.  And  the  four  beasts  and  the  four 
and  twenty  elders  fall  down  before  the  Lamb  and  say : 
'Thou  art  worthy  to  take  the  book  and  to  open  the 
seals  thereof.* " 

"What  book,  John?" 


THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH  229 

"The  book  with  the  seven  seals,  Mabel." 

"Why  is  the  Lamb  worthy  to  open  the  seals  of  the 
book?" 

"Because  He  will  lead  us  to  the  water  of  life  and 
God  will  wipe  away  all  tears  from  our  eyes." 

*Is  that  true,  John?" 

*As  true  as  the  only  God.  And  it  is  written:  In 
those  days  shall  men  seek  death  and  shall  not  find  it 
and  shall  desire  to  die  and  death  shall  flee  from 
them." 

"Death  shall  flee  from  them,  John,  because  they  have 
a  king  over  them,  which  is  the  angel  of  the  bottomless 
pit,  whose  name  in  the  Hebrew  tongue  is  Abaddon, 
but  in  the  Greek  tongue  he  has  his  name  Apollyon." 

"And  under  Him  the  people  of  the  Holy  City  are 
trodden  under  foot  forty  and  two  months.  But  he 
will  be  cast  out,  the  great  dragon,  that  old  serpent, 
called  the  devil  and  Satan,  which  deceiveth  the  whole 
world.  He  will  be  cast  out  into  the  earth  and  his 
angels  with  him." 

'And  will  that  happen,  John  ?" 

*It  will  happen ;  that  it  may  be  fulfilled  as  it  is  writ- 
ten. Such  as  are  for  the  sword  to  the  sword  and  such 
as  are  for  the  captivity  to  the  captivity !  But  the  vic- 
tory of  the  Lamb  will  only  be  complete  with  the  falling 
of  Babylon  and  with  the  pouring  out  upon  the  earth 
of  the  seven  vials  of  the  wrath  of  God.  Then  will  the 
saints  enter  into  the  new  Jerusalem,  called  to  the  mar- 
riage supper  of  the  Lamb,  for  the  marriage  of  the 
Lamb  is  come  and  the  wife  of  the  Lamb  has  made 
herself  ready." 

"There  is  a  light  of  understanding  in  your  eyes, 
John.     What  do  you  see?" 

"I  see  heaven  opened  and  behold  a  white  horse  and 
he  that  sits  upon  him  is  called  Faithful  and  True;  and 
in  righteousness  he  doth  judge  and  make  war.     His 


"1 


Hi 


230  THE   SHIP   OF  DEATH 

eyes  are  as  a  flame  of  fire  and  on  his  head  are  many 
crowns.  And  he  has  a  name  written  that  no  man 
knoweth  but  himself;  and  he  is  clothed  with  a  vesture 
dipped  in  blood;  and  his  name  is  called  The  Word 
of  God." 

"Is  he  alone,  John  ?" 

"No,  Mabel,  for  the  armies  which  are  in  heaven 
follow  him  upon  white  horses,  clothed  in  fine  linen, 
white  and  clean." 

'And  his  weapons^  John?" 

*Out  of  his  mouth  goeth  a  sharp  sword,  that  with 
it  he  should  smite  the  nations;  and  he  shall  rule  them 
with  a  rod  of  iron;  and  he  treadeth  the  wine  press 
of  the  fierceness  and  wrath  of  Almighty  God.  And 
he  hath  on  his  vesture  and  on  his  thigh  a  name  written : 
King  of  Kings  and  Lord  of  Lords." 

"It  will  be  a  terrible  harvest,  John!" 

"It  will,  Mabel.  And  now  I  see  an  angel  that  cries 
with  a  loud  voice  to  all  the  fowls  that  fly  in  the  midst 
of  heaven :  Come  and  gather  yourselves  together  unto 
the  succor  of  the  great  God ;  that  ye  may  eat  the  flesh 
of  kings,  and  the  flesh  of  horses,  and  the  flesh  of  all 
men  both  free  and  bond,  both  small  and  great.  And 
I  see  the  beast  and  the  kings  of  the  earth,  and  their 
armies  gathered  together  to  make  war  against  him  that 
sat  on  the  horse,  and  against  his  army." 

"Is  the  battle  joined?" 

"They  fight,  Mabel,  and  the  beast  is  taken  and  with 
him  the  astrologer  and  the  mighty  man  and  the  sorcerer 
which  wrought  miracles  before  the  people  and  de- 
ceived them  that  had  received  the  mark  of  the  beast 
and  them  that  worshipped  his  image." 

"And  what  is  the  beast's  fate  ?" 

"The  beast  and  the  astrologer  and  the  mighty  man 
and  the  sorcerer  are  cast  alive  into  a  lake  of  fire  burn- 
ing with  brimstone.    And  the  remnant  are  slain  with 


THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH  231 

the  sword  of  him  that  sitteth  upon  the  horse;  and  all 
the  fowls  are  filled  with  their  flesh." 

"You  have  other  visions,  John.  Tell  me  what  you 
see." 

"I  see  an  angel  come  down  from  heaven  having  the 
key  of  the  bottomless  pit  and  a  great  chain  in  his 
hands.  And  he  layeth  hold  on  the  dragon,  that  old 
serpent,  which  is  the  devil  and  Satan,  and  War,  and 
he  bindeth  him  for  a  thousand  years.  He  casts  him 
into  the  bottomless  pit  and  locks  him  in." 

"I  see  your  eyes  lighting  with  a  wonderful  light, 
John,  as  though  you  were  looking  upon  the  true 
blessedness  of  tiie  blessed." 

"Mabel,  I  see  a  new  heaven  and  a  new  earth;  for 
the  first  heaven  and  the  first  earth  are  passed  away, 
and  there  is  no  more  sea.  I  see  the  holy  city,  the  new 
Jerusalem,  coming  down  from  God  out  of  heaven, 
prepared  as  a  bride  adorned  for  her  husband.  And  I 
hear  a  great  voice  out  of  heaven  saying:  Behold  the 
tabernacle  of  God  is  with  men  and  they  shall  be  His 
people  and  He  shall  wipe  away  all  tears  from  their 
eyes.  And  there  shall  be  no  more  death  nor  sorrow 
nor  crying  nor  any  more  pain,  for  the  former  things 
are  passed  away." 

"And  what  says  He  that  sits  upon  the  throne  ?" 

"He  says:  Behold  it  is  done.  I  am  Alpha  and 
Omega,  the  beginning  and  the  end.  I  will  give  unto 
him  that  is  athirst  the  fountain  of  the  water  of  life. 
He  that  overcometh  shall  inherit  all  and  I  will  be  his 
God  and  he  shall  be  my  son." 

"Who  is  this  coming  now,  John?    I  hear  steps." 

"It  is  one  of  the  angels  which  had  the  seven  vials 
of  the  wrath  of  God." 

"What  does  he  say?" 

"He  says :  Come  hither,  I  will  show  thee  the  bride, 
the  Lamb's  wife." 


232  THE   SHIP   OF   DEATH 

"And  do  you  see  her  ?" 

"I  am  standing  on  a  great  and  high  mountain  and 
I  can  see  that  great  city,  the  holy  Jerusalem,  descend- 
ing out  of  heaven  from  God  and  having  the  glory  of 
God.  Her  light  is  like  unto  a  stone  most  precious, 
even  a  jasper  stone,  clear  as  crystal.  She  has  a  wall 
great  and  high  and  twelve  gates  and  at  the  gates  twelve 
angels.  And  the  wall  has  twelve  foundations  and  in 
them  the  name  of  the  twelve  apostles  of  the  Lamb. 
And  the  building  of  the  wall  is  of  jasper  and  the  city 
is  pure  gold  like  unto  clear  glass.  And  the  founda- 
tions of  the  wall  of  the  city  are  garnished  with  all 
manner  of  precious  stones.  And  I  see  no  temple  there- 
in ;  for  the  Lord  God  Almighty  and  the  Lamb  are  the 
temple  of  it.  And  the  city  has  no  need  of  the  sun, 
neither  of  the  moon,  to  shine  in  it;  for  the  glory  of 
God  lightens  it  and  the  Lamb  is  the  light  thereof. 
And  the  nations  of  them  which  are  saved  walk  in  the 
light  of  it,  and  the  kings  of  the  earth  do  bring  their 
glory  and  honor  unto  it.  And  there  shall  in  no  wise 
enter  into  it  anything  that  will  defile  it,  but  only  they 
which  are  written  in  the  Lamb's  book  of  life." 

These  were  the  madman's  last  words.  He  lay  si- 
lent, and  minute  after  minute  passed  without  a  sound 
^eing  heard  in  the  cell.  At  the  end  of  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  the  warder  went  to  his  patient,  shook  him,  felt 
his  pulse,  listened  to  his  heart,  and  then,  going  to  the 
telephone,  roused  the  director  of  the  asylum. 

"Oh,  yes!  Rieth,  is  it?"  A  sleepy  voice  came  to 
him  over  the  wire.     "What  is  the  matter  ?" 

"I  think  the  patient  is  dead,  sir." 

"Dead?    All  right,  I'll  come  at  once." 


'--  i. 


P-OFEBi^  5F  J. 


.IGM4  AiIpHA  EPSILO?: 


